The Green Lady
by Raggedy Nib
Summary: A few decades have gone by since Integra's passing. Now all that remains is Seras, her master, and the upcoming war over the existence of their race. A breakthrough in medicine gives the living world a scare...and Seras a sense of hope for her kind.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

_Bienvenue!_

_The name is Nibs. I'm here to tear up your reality and create a new one. The Muse has demanded I write this! So please placate the nagging Vixen and read! Review, good readers! Should I go on with this idea or no? Please be inclined to drop a word or so for me!_

_Ready? Set. Go!_

Prologue

Steam rose up off the foaming flanks of the gelding as they shifted and rippled with the corded muscles flexing beneath.

She really had no use in riding such a weaker creature to get from one place to the next, but the experience always proved to be a calming one for her.

The young Percheron was an extremely willing horse, always eager to obey her commands and gentle guidance. Sometimes she felt it was the only _living_thing that would obey her without manipulation from mind-control or the sway of her new position. She took a small comfort from it, in any case.

She felt the thick, strong muscle strain between her thighs, releasing suddenly as the massive forelegs lifted over the fallen log in their path. The rest of his body followed suit, falling back to the earth in a graceful economy of motion for such a large animal.

The woman grinned, throwing herself forward in the saddle as the grey beauty hit the earth and ate up the rest of the loamy turf with a tearing speed. Lights were appearing up in the distance, marking the outskirts of the village she had ridden since sundown for.

She pulled up on the thin reins sharply, halting the horse short of a low stone wall. He stamped, snorting as his rider sawed gently at the bit to calm the prancing gelding.

_Only a few more leagues_, she thought. A few more leagues to her warm apartments and deep bath before the dawn broke the dark of the night.

The young woman spared a glance over her shoulder at the vast mountains and forest spanning behind her as she stroked the straining neck of her mount, frowning. She had received a missive from the _rege_ of Romania only days ago, calling her back from the peace talks in Rome to his seat of authority in Bucharest. She had stamped her foot at the courier when he announced his reasons for visiting, waving her hands wildly as she shouted her irritation even though it would be better spent on the childish _rege_.

_A simple call to my cell would have been nice. Instead he sent someone to herd me back in person like a wayward lamb,_she had fumed.

Fleeing the holy city in a flurry of uncharacteristic anger, she had taken the private chopper the _rege_ had provided for the transit across the Adriatic Sea to the Balkans and upward. As soon as she had arrived in Bucharest, she was directed to the private retreat of Bran with word of a train idling in the city station for the few hours it would take to travel if she so willed it. After a changing out of the severe dress-suit into a comfortable blazer and breeches, she had saddled the gelding at the small stables in the last stop of Braşov, waving off the various attendants insisting upon a more modern transport for the Lady.

The castle was only a short ride from the more modern city, and the man she called master could surely cool his heels while she did the same with a lengthy ride.

Bran was nestled at the crux of a few provinces, now inhabited only by officials and nobility close to the re-instated _Rege_. Being one of his closest collaborators, the Lady held a private residence with the _Rege_himself in Bran Castle for a number of years. In the minds of the native Romanians, the two seemed most likely illicit lovers coupled with their master and servant relationship in the public eye.

_Of course, the public does tend to jump to the dirtiest concept and miss the whole picture_, she thought darkly.

The gelding's iron shod hooves made short work of the dirt roads and low walls between her and Bran, but took his time picking his way along the slippery cobblestones of the ancient village. Nearly a thousand years old, Bran still held the old world charm most of the country retained.

The Lady sighed quietly, eyeing the massive turrets and glowing stone of the castle piercing the sky. It had seemed such a short time since the passing of their mutual master, but in reality it was only a short decade ago when the great Knight had been laid to rest in Westminster Abbey.

And so, she and her unlikely lord had taken up their roots from the sea-blown nook of England and put them down in the familiar soil of Romania.

_He's up_, she noted. The windows of a high gallery running along one side of the castle were lit with dim light from the fire she knew to be roaring in the massive grate. She quickly dismounted in the courtyard of the stables as the gelding trotted through the gated archway, handing off the reins quickly to a groom before materializing outside of the library.

She had given up the pretense of using doors and stairways in Bran, preferring to use her abilities to get her from one room to the next to save confusion. Raising a hand against the polished wood of the doors, she knocked.

The lady still gave thought to the cherished notion of privacy, something her master completely ignored. He found her clinging beliefs positively hilarious, never failing to make quips about her long-held modesty and polite mannerisms. She would retort with some fumbling excuse, never quite to her master's level of banter and verbal sparring after all these years.

_A true Englishwoman,_ she remembered him saying.

She felt a tendril of thought flick against the barriers erected in her mind, the small black thread seeming to know it's way through her carefully constructed blocks to her inner-most self. _Enter,_ the dark thing said to her.

Her master looked up from the piles of regulation documents and papers heaped upon his desk, propping a booted foot upon the official looking paper without a care for them. He grinned wickedly at the woman striding from the long end of his study, his red-eyed gaze sweeping over her flushed cheeks and rioting blonde hair.

"You're late, Police Girl."

* * *

_Translations for Romanian Phrases: _

_Rege –_ king


	2. The Childe

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

_The Muse continues to harass me, spurring me on to write the next installment of 'The Green Lady'. Nomenclature of the title involved, the historical ghost that I based the title off of is said to be 'both beautiful and protective, or a blood-sucking demon' to put it bluntly._

_When I was touring Great Britain and France this summer, I came upon this local Gaelic legend on one of the excursions into the Scottish countryside. Since then, I've been searching for a character to apply the persona to along with many other tales heard on that memorable trip._

_Seras does strike me as an embodiment of this strange creature, neither ghost nor human but caught in the state of the undead. Blood sucking she may be, Seras's resolve to hold on to a gentler nature has characterized her throughout the TV series, OVA, and the manga._

_PM me if you have a fancy to hear the full story of the Green Lady! I'll link ya! Read and Review!_

_Much thanks to __**Archer8**__ for their kind words. I never forget the thoughtfulness of a reviewer!_

Chapter 1 – The Childe

_I can't believe this, _Seras snarled inside. The dark, twisting presence she came to acknowledge as her baser, vampiric side was infuriated by the dominance of her master was exerting lately.

His summons had been a whim mostly done out of boredom, he explained. His appointment to the throne of a true king had happened similarly along those lines if she recalled correctly. Every day was a test of her patience, another ploy to send her off the edge begging for release from servitude. The reasons for his withdrawal of the new Provost from the delicate peace-talks she was trying to conduct in Rome were purely meant to antagonize the Vatican.

_Master truly is going batty, _she thought with dismay as the centuries old vampire grinned at her with the enthusiasm of a young schoolboy. Seras didn't quite notice at first when he was first slipping from his usually reserved demeanor months ago.

Then the odd mood swings began to appear more frequently, coupled with the temper-flares he usually kept in check around his subjects and underlings. What really struck her was when he began to exert this new attitude on his Ministers and not just her. Since his outburst in the hotel in Rio all those years ago, she had become an emotional ragdoll for him to shake and fume at. In any human circumstances, most would cite it as abusive. Seras just labeled it as a convenient way for him to let off steam to another of his kind, not to mention a blood bound fledgling.

"You're going to break the beast, Police Girl." Alucard broke the silence, staring out the window into the courtyard where the groom still walked the gelding in a slow, continuous circle to cool him off from the laborious ride.

"He can take it," Seras quipped, "Quit treating the issue like you give a damn whether the horse lives or dies."

She knew she had struck a nerve with that one by the ripple that went through the lean, lanky form of her master's body. The one thing he did find fascinating about her growing personality were her attempts at matching him in these small fights. Alucard had bought the horses for his own amusement, but quickly tired of it as he always did while she continued to ride almost daily if her schedule allowed it.

Seras didn't know whether to peg his short-lived hobby as a nostalgic expenditure to gain back better remembrance of his human years or simply as a way to pass the time. She had taken up riding after the war with Millennium, favoring the long nights she spent on the solid backs of fine horses as she led them through the calm grounds of the Hellsing manor. Seras had continued the habit for nigh on thirty years until her master's return. After that, everything seemed to pass by in a hectic whirlwind.

Integra's health had finally deteriorated by 2057, passing quietly in her bed after she had reached her eightieth birthday. Alucard had been inconsolable, his rage translating as tears to Seras, his indignity towards Integra's refusal of his final offer of immortality a farce to hide the loneliness that struck him as soon as the knight breathed her last.

_And so, here we are, bound together in the year 2067_.

They caught each other's gaze, locking into one of their usual staring matches before she blinked, looking away from the imposing stance of her master.

Alucard reached out, the white gloved fingers catching onto a curling tendril of blonde hair. The piece must have escaped from the lacy snood she had caught most of the thick mass in, but the tickling tendril of inky black that she felt brush her ear earlier in the long squabble had her thinking otherwise.

The grim vampire gave the pale gold a tug, grinning as she frowned in irritation. She slapped his hand away, standing up as tall as her diminutive height allowed.

"You've gone and tossed nearly a week of negotiation efforts down the drain, master. Along with which was an allowance of leniency towards every devout Catholic in _your_ country to _not_ be excommunicated for deciding to stay."

Alucard shrugged, his hand reaching back up to tug the thin net of lace off the back of her head. She could've sworn she heard an almost imperceptible rumble from his chest as he watched the waving mass tumble to her waist, that same wandering hand reaching for the long bow gathering the ends of her hair together.

"It was their choice. If they want peace of mind, they can convert to the Orthodox Church," he hissed lowly, slicing through the thin ribbon to release her hair around her arms and waist. "Running this country has finally become an engaging project for you, Seras?"

He only used her given name to egg her on or address her in the most serious manner. In this case, it was the latter.

"It's not my fault they threw the rank back at you as soon as you showed up. You unloaded all the responsibilities onto _me_ after you had your fun," she hissed back, baring her fangs. "We're in this arrangement until the country dissolves or you name a suitable successor, if you want to save face with the public. You may not care what they think of you, but whatever impression you left six centuries ago is still going strong here. You're their savior, master. If you dodge out now you'll regret it later."

Alucard drew her face close to bare his larger, thicker fangs back at the woman. "You should not forget who the master is and who plays the role of the servant, Police Girl. I could snap you like a twig."

The threat was an empty one.

Seras turned on her heel with a hiss, quickly dissipating into the dusty air without so much as a 'by your leave' to the infuriating monster.

_What an ass!_

She reappeared far up in the higher corridors, making her way tiredly to her apartments.

_I should just ask for the blood and go,_ she thought dismally for the first time in years.

Yet, she could not leave. She felt pity for the monster that took the shape of a man. He was now more of a puzzle to the young provost than he was before the war. The outpouring of souls he had expelled from his body and the release Integra's death gave him had left the vampire simplified to his most basic elements. It was no killing machine or chained pet she lived with now, only Alucard.

"Provost Victoria!" shouted a servant, hurrying to her with a long list of provisions needed for the staff and tasks to be done for the week. Seras managed the household on her own along with the social affairs of the nation, occasionally coaxing Alucard out of the castle for some of the functions.

He came more often to play tricks on the fat matrons and pompous statesmen that littered the official balls and banquets other than to conduct business. After much begging from Seras he had lately reduced the side-splitting antics to an anonymous level so no one was the wiser as to who ripped the Chancellor of Austria's trousers down to expose a rather flamboyant pair of clinging red boxers with purple hearts straining across his massive buttocks last Saturday.

Seras held in a strangled laugh at the fond memory, remembering how hard it was to keep a straight face as the portly man was pantsed in front of most of the European elite.

The servant bowed repeatedly to the patient Lady, the young man blushing hotly at the resulting smile she turned his way before resuming her trek to the wide doors at the end of the hall.

Seras groaned in appreciation at the sight of the full bath, stripping out of the layers of clothing that smelled strongly of horse sweat before sinking into the steaming water. She made quick work of scrubbing the strong scent from her cold skin until the flesh felt vaguely warm from friction, a cheerful red tint coming back briefly as she washed the long hanks of her hair free from the dirt, brambles, and leaves it had picked up in her long ride.

She quickly toweled dry before dropping a gauzy night rail onto her curvy form, taking care to order every individual strand of her hair free of water. Supernatural follicles truly were her master's area of expertise, but she had made headway on mimicking the mysteries and movements he could create with her own hair. Over the years she had let the spikes of her youthful 'do soften to a wave, eventually lengthening it down past her elbows the day of Integra's burial.

It was only a short while to sunrise, but she was eager to make a little progress on the small bed-time project she had been engaging in over the past few weeks. She grabbed the soft cloth-wrapped bundle resting on her desk in the office, carrying it back into the soft haven of her bed to uncover it reverently.

It was a thick stack of ancient paper, curled and spotted with stains and age. The script was as old-age as the paper, for she often stumbled over the curling letters and mistook them for another character of completely different sound and meaning. Gradually, she had begun to work her way through the first five pages of the manuscript over the last month.

She would use the odd hour or half hour she spent before bed working through the thick packet, carefully transcribing the new entries to English-worded electronic script on the touch-screen she kept in her room.

Seras had managed to gain enough aptitude at the job to let her fingers fly over the blinking letters on the thin pane of glass, typing in the entry as her eyes scanned over the archaic but legible Latin. Every few minutes she would pause to look over her work on the lighted screen, scrolling down to digest the words.

Twenty years had passed since she started working through most major languages of the world for practicality, and Latin had been a small endeavor for the young Englishwoman to overcome, but overcome she did with a small bit of help from her master and a lot from books.

_Uskub, Anno Domini 1453_

_Turks have begun a tactical assault on the Blockades of Constantinople by sea and land. Reports show that they number near one hundred Thousand in Infantry with more en route from the East. Infantry is held in a Crescent position and none have managed to break their Formation._

_Word from contact shows that my Sibling is still in collaboration with Mehmed, the dishonorable Snake. He shames Our line with his Treachery. May he burn in Hell._

_Glory to our House and may God help us hold the line against these motherless Barbarians._

_D_

The musty sheaf of papers had been trapped under a fallen timber in one of the tower rooms. She was clearing the room when she had noticed the yellowed pages crushed under the massive beam, heaving it off to dust and gently pick through the stack. Back then, she and her master had just moved into the dilapidated castle after his reinstatement as a king.

The young Draculina had sworn to renovate the place until it was at least livable again, but Alucard waved her efforts off as futile and very human. Her pride took a blow for the umpteenth time, so she set to the task with her usual determination. She had achieved it after half a year of hard labor and a day crew of renovation specialist she had hired to do the work while she retired for the day.

She tapped on the power button of her screen, clearing the application filled display to the see-through pane of thin glass once again.

_Amazing advances we've made with computers,_ she wondered quietly to herself as she turned the paper-thin device around in her narrow hands.

She set the manuscript and touch pad aside before tapping a control or two on the console placed on her bed table, nodding in satisfaction as the heavy floor-to-ceiling drapes began to close against the dim light of dawn leaking through her windows. A loud click was heard from the doors to the hallway, signaling that all was well barricaded against any unwelcome visitors while she lay vulnerable in her death-like state.

The vampire lay down amidst the piles of feather pillows and cloud-like covers, closing her eyes as her ageless face relaxed into a peaceful pose of the untroubled.

Never did she notice the burning eyes that watched her body go still, never wavering from the petite form of his childe as he quietly phased through the thick wall. Alucard stepped quietly to the bedstead, drawing the thick curtains hung on the massive four-poster around the body of his fledgling.

He got one last look at the slight slant of her eyes and that stubborn mouth – now relaxed in the restful peace of the dead – before the thick fabric completely enshrouded her bed.

"Sleep well, _pisicuţă_."

* * *

_Translations for Romanian Phrases: _

_Pisicuţă- _kitten


	3. The Student

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

_Much thanks again to __**Archer8**__ and the new to review __**GG **__and __**SillyNeko**__!_

_**Archer**__ – You raise a good question! I originally intended to begin the prologue of this story during Integra's burial at Westminster and write from there. After a bit of experimentation I decided the flow of the plot would work a bit better if I just dived in and started the whole shebang after everyone is in their place of power and so forth. Seras is well established as a steward for Alucard's responsibilities as ruler of Romania in the start of this story, as you can see._

_In relation to the events that are fully matured in this story, they did begin developing soon after Alucard vanished and Seras was left as the sole vampire hunter for Hellsing a good thirty years. When I read over the final chapter of Hellsing, it was remarkable how changed/unchanged Seras was shown to be just in a few short panels. The way I took it was that her personality began to develop as more of an independent without Alucard present and natural experience age gives us, and she truly began to grow as an individual vampire while still holding to her cheerful personality. When Alucard reappeared, as she expected he would since she had all the time in the world to wait, things sped up; Alucard was the catalyst that set everything into motion._

_We'll see! For now, let us dive into the next chapter of The Green Lady. Read and review, you lurkers!_

Chapter 2 – The Student

The blonde official sat in her office at the main console, taping away at the keys to fill in the last requisitions for the military budget in one half of the screen while her attention floated to the video-conference with the Ministers in Bucharest occupying the other half of her monitor.

_This must be how Sir Integra felt at Round Table conferences,_she mused as the Minister of Education prattled on about the importance of no budget cuts to his programs. Alucard had left most of the provincial and national government blessedly untouched, only reinstating the monarchy as the executive power instead of the presidential position Romania had offered him. Seras figured his ego wouldn't suffer the contrite title 'President Vlad Dracula' when he could and would be 'His Royal Majesty Vlad Dracula'.

About a year after all the political uproar and media coverage of his day to day actions had cooled down, Alucard had quietly found the niche of provost for his fledgling to take most of the legwork of running the country. Seras had taken on the position very willingly, eager to please and be pleased.

If you had told her nearly seventy years ago she would once rule as a vampiric figurehead of a small Eastern European country, Seras would have marked you off as completely bonkers. Now, it was her whole world.

The public took to her well, raving over her well-dressed, professional appearance coupled with the classical long hair and wide blue eyes. She even stepped down to a very human level to follow the yearly fashion trends and set a few of her own, turning most young Romanian women into skirted beauties with high-heeled boots similar to her own public dress.

What really caught the attention of the human media was the sure existence of vampires in the world. There had been no way to cover up the identity of the creatures that ravaged D.C and London at the turn of the millennium, and very few survivor reports could be censored about the tiny blonde vampiress seen zipping around the sky during the Blitz with a phantom limb.

The world adjusted to the novelty of the supernatural existing fairly quickly, the old countries like Romania and the Slavic states coming about quicker than some with their very deep roots in the old folklore of the bloodsucking creatures.

_Odd how quick these men took to me._

She tapped a pen to the table in a tuneless rhythm, eyeing the Minister of Finance warily as he made proposal after proposal. One of the long-existing problems with Romania when she and her master were put into power was the excessive government expenditure coupled with the virtual non-existence of any type of bourgeoisie. Seras began to learn this as a horrid sign of a sick economy as she made her first annual tour of the country five years ago, noting the grubby villages and hollow-eyed peasants that lived in the remote countryside. The cities were little better, very outdated technology and transit wise with dilapidated housing hidden behind the boisterous façade of government buildings and private mansions.

"Sir, I fail to see how fueling our own private jets with any tax surplus will help the issues at hand. If you can't manage a simple drive from Bucharest to Varna in one of the Ministry cars, I fail to see why I should send you at all. Those jets are meant for longer distances than that," Seras interjected lightly mid-sentence, causing him to flush and sputter into unintelligible mumblings.

"Very well, Provost Victoria." The man sunk back into the chair at the long table, turning his face away from the screen where her face would be projected.

Seras nodded in satisfaction, turning her attention one of her most favored Ministers in the room. Nicolae Ionescu, a very thin man fresh from law school abroad, was a talented mathematician and strategist in terms of economics. Although she and by way of rule Alucard were given the credit of putting the country's economy back on its feet, Ionescu was certainly the man behind the miracle.

She had rewarded his success with an increase in salary along with a few small gifts, making sure to cut the taxes he paid as a private citizen in half for a lifetime. The Minister of the Economy waved cheerfully back at her smiling acknowledgement, smiling brightly back as he stood to make his weekly report on the status of the markets and financial stability of the nation.

The meeting wrapped up in another hour with the report from the rest of her Ministers, biding them a final farewell before she terminated the connection.

She looked down at the simple silk robe she had folded herself into before the meeting, hiding the transparent fabric of the night rail she still wore. Seras had a tendency for the past five years to immediately take care of the day's business before feeding, but lately she had established a close familiarity with the Ministers enough to have video conferences from Bran and dress down during the meetings. It put her in a more human light and it relaxed the tense men at the table to see Seras wasn't quite to Alucard's level of vampirism.

Shedding the white nightclothes on her way into the closet, she slipped into a more concealing pale sweater and worn jeans.

_Sneak down and grab a drink before I start,_she thought as she pinned the thick mass of hair onto the back of her prim head securely. Forgoing makeup, she dissipated out of her apartments to the sublevels of the castle. The lower basement was a cold place, very ideal for the storage of the O Negative blood packets she kept stocked in the large freezer. The stairway that led up to the basement kitchen obscured the metal door, but the red sign said clearly enough that only authorized servants were permitted in the large cooler. Seras tapped in the code, wrenching the door open to lean in and retrieve a plump packet of the cold plasma.

After ascending the stairs to the warm, low-ceiling room of the castle kitchens she set about heating the thick stuff up, preferring the low boil it rose to if she used the slower convectional heat of the oven. Seras hopped up on a counter, swinging her feet idly as she peered out of one of the high windows set into the rock-wall.

She would take blood from humans once a month or so, but mostly preferred the blood packets she received on the quiet from the local hospitals in Braşov**.**No questions asked or strings attached the people she ruled understood that she took the sustenance to survive. Alucard left the supply untouched, preferring the more tempting diet of fresh, straight from the source blood. Seras didn't quite know where her master hunted, but as long as she didn't see reports of a drained corpse headlining her evening paper she could care less.

The oven dinged, popping open to reveal the simmering treat of her dinner. Seras quickly withdrew the swollen pack, biting feverishly into the bag to suck out the viscous liquid. She threw the drained plastic away in the incinerator, delicately wiping at her mouth with a dishrag before she began phasing up to the dining room. She sighed, steeling herself for the encounter ahead before phasing up through the ceiling to the floors above.

The room she materialized in was one of her favorites in Bran. Situated on the second floor of the narrow castle, it was decked out with the regalia and shields of Transylvania's older cities. The records she had drawn up from old historical archives showed that the room was indeed used for formal dining in earlier centuries.

She had refurbished the space with rich gold and blues, freshening the fading paint on the wainscoting and coats-of-arms hanging above the massive fireplace with the new color scheme. The furniture pieces in the room were all mainly baroque and original 18th century pieces, preserved lovingly by the caretakers of the castle in storage when it had fell into disrepair in the 2020s.

The entire structure was four stories total not including the ground floor and sublevels, the fourth floor being reserved for her rooms and nothing else. Alucard had taken up a tentative residence below her on the third floor in the library, but he sometimes could be found in the subbasement sulking if he was in the mood to transport his chair and coffin stand below for privacy and darkness.

He was present in the dining room, as of now; he never failed to be on time for their usual lessons they conducted every evening for an hour when she was in residence at Bran. Seras felt a ripple of shock when she saw his relaxed dress; the white buttoned shirt and dress-pants were the same as always, but he lacked the suit's coat that matched the charcoal colored trousers. His tie was absent along with his shades, but the customary high boots still covered his feet and calves.

"Even I can grow tired of formal dress in my own home, Police Girl." He grinned slyly at her dumbfounded expression from his seat at the head of the polished table, the chair on his right sliding out for her as she approached.

It wasn't until she got closer that she noticed his hands were bare. The sigils that once marked the flesh were fading rapidly as the years went by and the restrictions on his powers were obliterated at his will. Still, it was a rare thing to see her master's lean fingers free of the white gloves.

"_Bună seara, Domn."_She managed to utter the Romanian greeting without stuttering, still caught off guard by her master's drastic change in dress.

It was the traditional greeting she gave the native speaker during their language lessons. Although he was an incurable ass, he had to be the most qualified person on the face of the earth to teach her the language. After five years of it, she had emerged successfully fluent in conversational Romanian and passable in the written language.

"_Ce faci_, Seras?" he purred, the words slipping like spiced honey from his clever tongue. She really didn't think it fair for a man who was such a demon to possess the beautiful, throaty accent he had when he slipped back into his native language.

"_Obosit,_" she answered hoarsely, falling into the chair with a heavy thud.

It continued on like this for about forty minutes, half-way through Alucard made her take diction as he spoke of how loud some of the servants were even while they slept and the shabbiness of her attire. She made minimal mistakes, but those were immediately found and she was made to scribble out the misplaced word or accent mark and repeat the correction a good ten times by her harsh task-maker.

"_Mulţumesc mult, Domn._" She inclined her head to Alucard when he pronounced her lesson over, a tinge of regret creeping into her voice as he cut the session short.

"_Cu plăcere_," he said, waving any further comment from her with a flick of his ungloved hand before switching back to English.

"It appears…some of the Slavic states wish to be dissolved into our borders because of the strain on them from Rome," he stated with some delicacy, watching her expression carefully. "I'm inclined to let them if we are ready to stretch our boundaries to the Adriatic."

"Which countries do you mean, exactly?" she asked quietly, pointing at the detailed map of the world mounted in the gilt frame across the room.

He rose and tapped an bare finger to a few Balkan countries, touching five in all. A similarity Seras noted was that they all shared close borders with Romania or another country that wanted admittance. "It was coordinated?"

"Undoubtedly," he remarked dryly, his eyes tracing over her face in a familiar way.

"Financially, we're solid. I just worry about the international consequences of taking them in. We may be sanctioned with some sort of stupid edict about aggressive expansion. We'll be hearing from Rome, also." She answered his unspoken question with finality.

Seras might as well state the obvious. They were on shaky ground in terms of international relations. The U.S and Britain saw them as complete and utter freaks, not fit to rule humans in their ungodly state of existence. Peaceful country admitting desperate countries or not, they were a threat. After Alucard had been reinstated, a massive outpouring of the devout had fled the country in exodus, claiming all that lived under the vampire's rule were damned. The Vatican was of like mind, despising the vampire and his fledgling on sight but remained civil to them in the public spotlight.

"That's calling the kettle black," he chuckled, eyeing the boot-shaped peninsula of Italy sinisterly. "They retook Sicily and Switzerland with the excuse of _Unity under God_. If they're wise, they'll hold back on retaliating until things settle."

_Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Montenegro, and Slovenia. I think we've just gained an entire naval fleet and more than a few conflicting ethnic groups overnight._

"I'm guessing I should call everyone in Bucharest and tell them to start packing?" she asked, arching a thin eyebrow at her master.

The vampire grinned back at her, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to expose the strong forearms and wrists. "Quite the opposite, Seras. They will come to us."

* * *

_Translations for Romanian Phrases: _

_Bună seara_–Good evening

_Domn –_Honorific title of lord

_Ce faci_ – How are you?

_Obosit_ – tired

_Mulţumesc mult-_Thank you very much

_Cu plăcere-_You're welcome


	4. The Politician

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

_Nibs here with fast updates ahead! Onward I plunge into a new chapter! As always, read and review. Much thanks to Archer8, Fellow Sufferer, and Kurogawa Yumi for their input! More Romanian speech to come, Yumi!_

_Archer! Yet again, you bring up a good point. The main inspiration for the setting of the story was my Russian-born professor's very ardent lecture about pre-war Europe. She went into such great detail about the Austro-Hungarian efforts to keep the Balkans under control through the 19th__and 20th__centuries, but as you can see things didn't quite turn out peachy in that arrangement._

_Fellow Sufferer! I decided to base the government here in the year 2067 along the same lines of the modern Romanian government. In the five branches of central government of Romania, the Council of Ministers exercise control over the activities of all state agencies on both the national and local levels. Beside the elected representatives in the Grand National Assembly and the State Council, they're running the show with about nineteen Ministers making up their numbers._

_The difference between the Minister of Economy and the Minister of Finance is that the Economic Minister oversees commerce and the business environment as well as the national market. The Minister of Finance is head of the Garda Financiară, the Financial Guard, which oversees the enforcement of tax laws and also he heads up 40 public-finance General Directorates scattered throughout Romania. So the Minister of Finance has quite a huge contingency of agencies under him._

_Talk about political change, eh? Perfect chapter to explain!_

Chapter 3 – The Politician

_A week later…_

Her master had moved the coffin up a floor in preparation for the incoming flood of dignitaries and government officials.

Seras did not make much of a fuss when she found the familiar black case resting on the floor of her parlor, but she did knock quite angrily on the engraved lid for an answer as to why he didn't head down into the sublevels.

"Because, _dragă_, I have no desire to spook the Serbs with my basement dwelling antics while they're here. No need to scare them out of this arrangement just yet," he muttered from the dark slit where he had cracked the lid to speak to her. It was fully midday, but Seras awoke from her rest early to complete the summit's itinerary for organization. "Besides, it gives the public something to talk about for a few months. Makes them think we're sharing the same coffin in the day, no? We'll boost Romania's notoriety."

She had blushed, fresh blood from earlier in the day bringing a rosy tinge to the sharp angles of her cheekbones. "Master, do behave around these people!"

He had sufficiently scared her out of the room with a well-placed squeeze to her naked ankle near his coffin, chuckling darkly at her shriek and quick departure.

_Master is getting a bit fond with the new nicknames,_she thought as she tapped away at the keys of her touch pad. _Dragă_was a term she heard Nicolae use with his young wife one evening at the Cluj-Napoca three years ago, a very notable opera house she had insisted on visiting with her new favorite Minister.

_Rigoletto_ was the performance showcased at the Cluj-Napoca that warm June night, and she received the Presidential box in honor of her visit along with a personal invitation to meet the cast backstage. Her master had shrugged off the invitation she extended before she left, retreating into the library with a bottle of wine and towers of books to keep him company.

The guaranteed escape from the box was uplifting to her spirits when it came, for the loving Minister of Economy and his new bride Catia were quite close during the performance. Seras had sat through the nearly three hour ordeal wishing for the gentle squeezes of the hand and the unexpected pecks to the cheek Nicolae gave the pretty woman next to her. It wasn't Nicolae himself but the closeness of a lover she desired. Alucard's new name he bestowed upon her so casually was dredging up too many old feelings she thought long buried.

_He just meant it in the familial way, Victoria._

She gently reminded herself of the facts true to her eyes as she fought down the burning feeling in her throat. It was no secret to her that she had felt strong affection and attraction towards her master in her younger years, but his attention was solely for the handsome Integra and her unbreakable spirit.

Seras had accepted the fact that her feelings could never be reciprocated by the tall vampire, finally turning attention to her own self after he had vanished that day in London.

When Integra passed on, she felt a selfish wave of satisfaction that the Knight was cold and lifeless in the ground. The blonde had felt shock at her own petty greed for her master's full attention, but she couldn't help but feel relieved as Integra was lowered into the stone tomb that would encase her body for the years to come while Seras remained unchanged, ageless.

The memory of his lost master haunted Alucard, plaguing him to the point of insanity for a few years as he took his fledgling from England to the continent. He had pieced himself back together, as always.

_Time heals all wounds, they say._

Oh, did she know this to be only a little true. Pip, her lost Captain, had faded into the background of her memory soon after Alucard returned. She remembered the night his voice did not answer her usual conversations, the gut wrenching feeling of dread sending her from her room in the Hellsing basement to her master's dark lair.

He had shrugged off her tearful pleading, responding shortly that Bernadotte's presence would always remain with her, but her memory of him was fading to the point where his voice could no longer reach her conscious mind.

She sunk into a miserable heap of blood-tears and screams for weeks, completely wrecking the room in her rage.

Seras had emerged a stronger vampire, but a weaker human. The loss had struck her deep, for she had grown much attached to the teasing and comfortable weight on her mind the Frenchman brought.

After thirty years of distance from the loss, she only felt small pangs of hurt when she thought of the ill-fated love between her and the Captain of the Wild Geese. No advances from human men were accepted, no advances were made from her.

Blinking, Seras realized she'd been typing the same sentence over a few times. She erased it, finishing the document quickly before forwarding it to her secretaries in Bucharest. They would handle the distribution of the schedule among the delegates of the five countries coming to visit, along with the minor details of travel and such. She had left the housing arrangements up to the housekeeper of the castle, and a few cooks had been hired to prepare the meals of the humans that would now reside in Bran for the meeting.

_All set up in rooms on the residential floors below, ground floor being the chapel and all. I don't think they'd appreciate being squeezed into the basement, either…_

She rose from her office chair and exited into the parlor, tapping on the lid of the massive coffin once more. Her master did not answer from the inside.

_I need to get dressed,_she thought as she looked down at her plain clothing. Tonight would be a reception dinner in the formal dining room, followed by a short meeting in the chapel below. The pews had been removed and replaced with a long table and stately chairs in preparation for the summit. The chapel was the only room large enough in the castle to seat all the dignitaries, journalist, heads of state, and more people filling up the castle by the hour.

Soon she was decked out in her finest, fastening the emerald earbobs to the tender skin of her earlobes. The heavily beaded front of her green hued gown had yet to be done up, draped across the skirt as she stood in front of the mirror.

"Lovely color, Police Girl."

Seras winced, folding her arms across her unclothed breasts as her master made his way past her to occupy a spare pane of the massive mirror. He was doing up the silky red cravat that went with his formal suit, taking slow care to get the folds and creases just so. His hair was at a reasonable length tonight, just shy of brushing his shoulders.

He glanced over at her, arching an eyebrow as she remained frozen in her modest pose. "Don't stop on my account."

She glared back at his mild look, her arms crossing tighter over her chest as he stepped behind her. Her shudder could be barely contained as she felt his surprisingly warm fingers brush the skin of her back as he did up the fastenings of the satin gown, bowing his head to the task politely so she could preserve her dignity, lifting the bodice of the gown to her front to assist his efforts.

Soon, she was dressed fully in the sleeveless sheath and decked out with emeralds at her neck and ears.

It was an awkward silence that followed, but her master did not move away. His hand drifted up from fastening the last clasp of the dress to adjust the lattice-like web of silver and jewels around her throat, a thumb brushing over the obscured spot where his mark remained.

"Perfect," he murmured, bending his head low to deeply breathe in the scent of her skin. "Wisteria?"

"Yes," she replied shortly, breaking the close contact to finish the final touches of eyeliner and blush to her face. She looked like a china-doll, albeit a royal looking one.

_Just missing was the tiara and glass slippers, Cinderella,_she thought cynically.

She turned around to face her master, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. Sometimes she forgot his height, but dressed in his finest he looked every bit the imposing, regal king the world knew him as.

"Ready to face the wolf-pack, Police Girl?" he grinned, bending forward to give her a courtly bow as he extended his arm. She took it, hooking her elbow with his as they phased down to the reception room below, the world waiting on their arrival.

The dinner was a long one as Seras had planned, six courses total for the humans and endless refills of wine for her and her master. They could manage some liquids, but never food as they once could in life.

The tumblers of brandy and the dishes of the delicate custard served as the desert were nearly cleared away by the wait staff when the heads of state seated near Alucard and Seras began to talk business.

It was when the old, wizened Premier of Croatia began to speak when things at the table took a turn for the decidedly worst.

"I'm sorry, Premier Grgić, I couldn't hear you over this rabble," Seras confessed politely to the man by her side. He was a brave one for sitting so close to the Draculina and her Sire, but he didn't let any fear show by his animated conversation about the beaches in Croatia with her earlier. Alucard had looked thoroughly bored throughout the entire dinner, swirling his goblet of red wine around and around as he listened to the talk of everyone around him.

"We would, that is to say our countries would…like to see some form of formal union between you and your king," the Premier of Croatia croaked out.

"Meaning to say…repeat that?" If she could sweat, a cold one would be popping on her brow right about now if the Premier was suggesting what she wildly imagined.

"In the interest of maintaining a decidedly moral unification to the international community, we have a few stipulations that need to be accepted before we merge," Grgić reworded his proposal, but the meaning was still hidden to the woman.

"You're dodging the point, Premier Grgić. I'd much prefer it if you'd speak plainly." Seras raised her voice a degree in pitch, enough to quiet the conversations way at the end of the table.

"Provost Victoria, the time for modesty is over. You and your lover have been together for nearly sixty years, rumor has it. Longer than my wife and I have been married! What is a simple piece of paper to you both at this point?" The tiny man chucked nervously, dabbing at the shinning upper lip of his mouth with the fine linen of the napkins.

_Fuck._

It was now obvious what Grgić was getting at. Seras just had a hard time of believing the puny man had the gall to throw it out at the dinner table.

She chanced a look at Alucard on her right at the head of the table, kicking him hard in the shin when she noticed the barely contained grin threatening to split his face.

"The _Rege_ and I-"

"-were considering a small ceremony before your proposal, Premier." Alucard smiled benevolently to Grgić, holding up a hand to stop any further words from Seras.

Seras was floored.

Her master continued to smile, reaching for the pale hand folded in her lap to give it a reassuring squeeze. Seras could hear the 'ohs' and 'ahs' down the table as he raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand with a smirk. "Shall we cease living in sin, _dragul meu_?"

* * *

_Translations for Romanian Phrases:_

_Rege-_king

_Dragă__–_sweetheart

_Dragul meu –_My dear


	5. The Socialite

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

_Nibs here again with a new chapter!_

_Much thanks to the reviews of the readers Archer8, GG, and Kurogawa Yumi. A welcoming thank you to the new to review SickDeath, FKruegersGirl, immiD, and Angel Reaper! All your input really does help the writing go a lot quicker. I like to see I'm doing something right! As always, review you lurkers. I'm watching you!_

_Onward, good readers!_

Chapter 4 – The Socialite

"Self-centered, megalomaniacal, arrogant _prick_!" Seras shouted into her pillow later that night. She had been forced to sit through the remainder of the dinner and following meeting like an obedient servant, but she hoped she'd relayed some of her fury by shattering the delicate wine flute with a well placed squeeze in plain sight of her 'fiancé'.

She had tittered convincingly drunk to the slightly sloshed guests, waving the dinnerware casualty off as a bit of embarrassed nerves on her part. Most had smiled at her endearing slipup, already rosy cheeked with booze and good humor as they came to the realization that the merger would be a painless one.

Alucard kept up the charade, keeping a possessive arm around her waist as they shared a settee in the drawing room during the meeting. The guests had gone to bed with many felicitations to the couple, hoping for an invite to the small ceremony that was starting to turn into a much larger one than her master had originally proposed.

As soon as the room had cleared, Seras drew her arm back for a satisfying slap on her master's angular cheek. If the force would have been applied to a human the head would've been knocked clean off, but for the vampire it merely moved his chin a few degrees in the opposite direction.

He had chuckled at her fury, reaching out to crush her wrist in a tight grip. They engaged in a brief physical struggle, but he had overpowered the younger vampire with size alone.

She remembered how stupidly small and weak she felt under his bulk as he pinned her to the Persian rug that spanned the creaky floor of the room.

_If anyone happens by us, they'll think we are just lovers locked in an embrace,_he had whispered mockingly into her hissing mouth, not quite kissing but close enough to appear so.

He had not given an answer to her demands, disappearing into the shadows of the ceiling with only his wide smile remaining. Seras had rushed up after him, intent on getting answers from the infuriating monster.

She had arrived at his coffin, already sealed against her attempts to pry it open. The thing really did have a mind of its own when it didn't want to be opened, but she tried her hardest to move and force the stubborn casket.

It was a prime idea to her at the time to toss it out the fourth story window into the courtyard below, or with luck she could throw it far enough to land in the lake beyond the gardens. Her anger had turned into frustration, for if she made more noise she'd surely wake the humans sleeping below.

_Master was very wise to do this while things are in such a delicate state_, she realized. She had gained enough savvy over the years to know making a scene in public could destroy you permanently. If Seras had pitched a fit at the table over her master's untruthful declaration, the heads of state would've had a very bad impression of their possible rulers. Enough to withdraw the offer to merge, even.

Seras managed to pry her jaw off the edge of the pillow at the present time, snorting at the shredded appearance of the fine silk.

_Like a wolf._

She sat up in her tousled mess of blue and gold bedclothes when she felt the wet drops of blood on her cheeks. _Such a pawn_, she thought as she dabbed at the strange tears dripping from her eyes.

After a few decades, she thought she'd gained the upper hand in power while her master sulked from room to room. The apparent truth of it all was that it was all a façade.

The moon was falling further down to the horizon when she spared a glance to the windows. She cursed, detangling herself from the bedsheets to whisk her way into the office.

She could mope later. For now, work needed her attention and a plan was formulating in her mind.

* * *

Seras kept her straight posture as she escorted the few ladies present at the summit into the courtyard, taking care to put a polite word or two into the conversation.

One had joined late last night, as she was informed early this morning. She had peered out the window of her office when the limousine pulled up to the gated arch of the courtyard near dawn, noticing the well-dressed woman that presented her credentials to the guards standing watch.

The woman in question turned out to be a guest Seras looked forward to meeting. The dossier on one Lady Demir showed her to be a government registered vampire, revealing the intimate details of her maker, true year of birth and death, and other such biographical information.

Up close, the olive-skinned woman appeared to be of pronounced Middle-Eastern ancestry by the firm cut of her jaw and heavily lidded eyes. Her hair was obscured in the modern fashion of covering, a fashion that had taken hold of most Christian European women as well as Islamic Europeans earlier in the century.

A length of fabric would be pinned in a decidedly Moslem manner to the hair and draped around the shoulders and neck in an artful arrangement, the fluttering ends trailing behind the wearer to any desired length.

The Islamic women had claims to practicing it for hundreds of years. The Christians were just swinging back into the trend, favoring the way it gave them a virginal appearance with the modest covering.

Seras wore the covering occasionally in respect to the conservative traditions of her adopted country, furthering her image as a considerate ruler albeit a dead one.

She kept the conversation going as the other ladies mounted up on their horses saddled and tethered to iron hitching posts in the alcoves of the courtyard, chattering on about the novelty of it all.

Outside of business and with social equals, custom required each woman to address each other as Miss, Lady, Madame, or all manner of titles used this century. The group here had shifted into the formal but comfortable usage of 'My lady' for their hostess and each other.

It was then that the only other non-breathing woman in the bunch made her way over to the mare tied up by Seras's gelding, nodding in acknowledgement to the smaller vampiress.

"It is extremely fortunate for our paths to cross, my Lady Victoria."

The woman bowed low to Seras, tilting her head towards the blonde in benediction.

Seras dipped her head in return to the striking woman, eyeing the hawkish shape of her nose as she tightened the girth on her saddle. The statuesque lady reminded her of a Sultana, but the records indicated her place of origin, family, and social standing before turning were unknown.

_Of course she wouldn't give those bureaucratic vultures every detail. I know I wouldn't_, she thought.

Lady Demir was one of the few vampires of the old world that had shown their face to the public, being that most preferred to keep to their solidarity. She was made somewhere in the early 19th century, but the exact date was listed as unspecified on the documents.

The other woman had already mounted up, touching a hand to her forehead in a salute to the blonde before turning her mare about to the growing group of riders by the archway.

Tonight a short tour of the grounds would be conducted by Seras before dinner while Alucard was bestowed the duty of entertaining the gentlemen in whatever fashion he could manage. She had left a terse note on his coffin with instruction, making sure to underline the desire of a private talk later in the night to figure out the next step in his little charade.

Seras hoisted herself easily into the worn leather of the saddle, turning the horse about as she called for the ladies to follow her. They made it out into the garden without much problems, most of the inexperienced riders well suited to the easy manners of the horses they picked out.

"I'd always figured Romania to be terribly industrialized, not so wild and green as it seems to be," one older woman commented mildly as they entered the outer fringe of the forest beyond the gardens.

"We still hold the largest amount of original European wildlife, my Lady Sklenár." Seras smiled at the elderly woman as she turned her mount about, pointing through the copse of trees to the small meadow beyond. "See them?"

The white-haired dowager nudged her spectacles onto the bridge of her nose, squinting a second before crying out in delight. "Are those truly elk? I'd thought they were all wiped out by now!"

The small heard of the antlered creatures were bathing in the last rays of the sun far off on the other side of the clearing, nibbling on the grass they lounged on.

"No, my Lady Sklenár. A few managed to weather the times out here in the Carpathians and breed well enough to make it by," she explained, nudging her mount back along the path as they moved through the forest.

The ladies behind her spent a few moments marveling at the elk, a younger one reaching into her coat pocket for the thin Plasglass that made up her cellular device. A few touches to the clear, rectangular screen and a picture was captured on the device.

"Always fascinated with the plainest things these days, aren't they?" Lady Demir pulled up beside her, keeping a steady hand hovering over the lip of her saddle as she reined the horse close to Seras.

"Humans?" Seras nodded to the group behind them, shrugging. "I guess some of the things we took for granted in our lives got a bit sparser for this generation."

"Indeed," Lady Demir murmured, peering at her closely. Seras could see the flecks of red spotting the near-black irises of the other vampire, evidence of either age or deep indulgence in blood.

"So how is it that you became the Minister of Tourism in your country?" Seras ventured, blinking as the woman withdrew her face from such close proximity to her own.

"I came up from the Congo a few years back to snag the position, just after I had registered with the Federation of European Nations. I had waited around for an international signing of equalized rights for our kind with the humans," Lady Demir explained, casting a look over her shoulder at said humans. "Most of us were staked out in underdeveloped or warring countries, as you may have known. Less likely to be caught when drained corpses were found in very hostile or remote zones, but eventually the natives started to get suspicious of me when things cooled down in that hellish jungle."

"So you left for Montenegro?" Seras nodded in understanding, fascinated with the small tidbits of facts the woman was feeding her. Even in the long period between the war and now, she had seen very few free vampires in her existence. Her master had explained the secrecy their kind kept, meeting each other very rarely as they spread out over the world to even out the territories they claimed for hunting.

_What did you think, Police Girl? That we meet for luncheon every few months to catch up and compare notes? Don't let this 'coven' idea or the camaraderie of those freakish Nazis fogs your perception of our kind. I've never seen more than ten of us convene in a group and even then for only a week. True nosferatu rarely get along with other bloodsuckers in close quarters._

Seras snapped back to reality, pushing back the old conversation with her master into the back of her mind for later examination. Lady Demir was still talking in the cool, honeyed tones she possessed with just the barest hint of an accent.

_Arabian, maybe? I swear I've heard it before._

"…proposed to our President that a merge might be wise if he did not wish to join with the Catholics in this new conflict. Eventually he came around to it and word got around to the rest of the Balkans," Lady Demir took care to guide her horse close to Seras before talking in a barely audible tone. "If I may be so bold, is it true about your engagement to Lord Dracula?"

"As far as I'm aware of, yes." Seras couldn't keep the dryness out of her tone, but she managed to restrain the eye-roll. Just barely, though.

"Ahhh…" the olive-skinned woman grinned widely, showing off a set of gleaming teeth. "It's such a fascinating thing that you both are placating the humans with forming such a weak bond. Our ties we form with our own males last much longer and stronger than conventional marriages these humans practice, as you know."

Seras nodded along in agreement, having no honest idea of what the woman was getting at. If she'd ever regretted not seeking out a few of her own kind besides her master, she was feeling it strongly now.

The trail terminated into the rose gardens just then, bringing the two women out of their chat as the women behind them drew closer.

"I think this has been enough adventure for one night, ladies." Seras smiled back at her guests as she led them back along the pebble-strewn road to the courtyard, laughing as all of them gave a small noise of disappointment.

"My Lady Victoria, I should have my husband buy a few horses for our estate back home so you can come riding with me in Slovakia," the Lady Sklenár raved when they made it back into the courtyard, squeezing Seras briefly on the arm before drawing her hand back in shock. "Dear me, it's true that you are quite chilly!"

Seras grinned ruefully before handing off the reins of her horse to a groom. "One of the many letdowns, my lady."

"But how did you manage to come out while the sun was still up? I expected you to burst into flames or something to that effect," the lady exclaimed, straightening up to peer up and down the youthful body of the Provost for any eminent signs of spontaneous combustion.

"The sun is weakening to our abilities, but as we age it affects us less." Seras pointed up to the dusky sky, explaining the matter in a kind tone. The lady nodded in understanding, peering up at the sky with her before patting the hand of her hostess in a mothering manner.

The other ladies dismounted as the young grooms caught the bridles of their mounts, making their slow way past Seras with bright smiles of gratitude and the insistence of doing it again at least once more. Soon it was just the busy grooms, Lady Demir, and the lone Provost in the enclosed space.

Seras made her way to say something to the quiet lady standing expectantly in front of her, but was interrupted by the well-known hiss of her master's appearance.

He was dressed in his everyday attire of black suit and boots, but had slicked back the hair that now reached past his shoulders. Alucard looked from Seras to Lady Demir, a smirk forming on his smug face.

"Turk," Alucard grinned at the hawk-faced woman before nodding to his fledgling. "It seems you've met Seras."

Seras glanced in-between the two older vampires, tension frizzling in the air.

"Anyone care to explain?"


	6. The Jilted

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

_Update, update, update!_

_Much gracious thanks to the reviews of __**Jenna B**__, __**MidnightRain6593**__, __**KawaiiKittyChan**__, __**JMai**__, __**GG**__, __**Angel Reaper**__, __**TheRoyalWe**__, and __**immiD**__! Your individual input always brings me the drive to write__**at least**__a friggin' paragraph of story. Reviews equal fuel and encouragement for your friendly neighborhood Nibs!_

_Here we go peeps. We're getting into the racier bits of The Green Lady with this chapter onward. In respect to and their rules, I'll post the full versions (with goods) on since they're a bit less choosey about what shows up in the works there. This chapter isn't pinned as too graphic for cuts here, but for any graphic chapters I'll post a__**bolded**__alert hereabouts and a link to the chapter on AFF dot net. _

_I like-um my sex scenes long and very in-depth. Those who are shrinking violets stay here; those brave few go to the version for chapters I deem edited._

_Cheers, darlings!_

Chapter 5 – The Jilted

The three had retreated to her secluded office for privacy.

Seras sat in her usual high-backed chair at the polished desk while Alucard remained standing behind her, closer to the chair than she was really comfortable with. Every so often she'd edge closer to the desk, but the weight of his crossed arms resting on the angled back of her seat was a constant thing no matter how far she pulled forward.

Lady Demir took the couch facing the long wall of stacked bookshelves, turning her torso sideways to face the pair opposite her.

"I assume you'll have received the files and statements I transferred to your personal electronic mail earlier, Provost Victoria. I had a feeling you'd want hard copies of what I'm about to inform you both of," the regal woman explained, running a hand along the back of her head to tug the sheer veil of black from her hair. She shook it out, a very tired look passing over her hawkish face.

"I'm assuming it's not the best of news, my Lady Demir." Seras knew the look on the other woman's face to be one of resignation, causing the blonde to brace herself for the forthcoming information.

"My former nation is joining a very large coalition of radical Islam nations," Lady Demir sighed, "with which they are planning to mount a full scale assault on multiple fronts as far as I'm aware of, one of which is Greece and the Balkans."

"How did you come by this information, Turk?" Alucard snipped from behind Seras, his eyes slitting in the dark of the room.

"As you know, I deal with many high-stake gamblers in our casinos, my lord. Enough procurement of vice to one of the Saudi playboys and a very large amount of vodka in his gullet had him singing like a nightingale to me a month ago." The woman paused to rummage around in the stylish briefcase she had brought up, drawing out a few glossy photos of a tan young man in an expensive suit.

"One of the royals?" Seras asked in curiosity, scanning her eyes over the young man's visage before turning her bright eyed stare to Lady Demir.

"Khalid ibn Abdul-Aziz. Son to a fortune built on oil and a kingdom of sand. He ranted on about this true jihad the fanatical states are buying into. I figured his tongue was so loose around me due to my continuance of practicing the Faith," she pointed to the _hijab_ wound around her neck, "and his father is rumored to be the head of all this ugly business," Lady Demir elaborated, rubbing a few fingers to the bridge of her nose in weariness.

Alucard snorted in dissention before quipping, "More likely you were angling to get a meal off him, Turk. You always were gifted when it came to prying into the minds and actions of the weak to make them do what you willed."

"So you feel that the Turkish forces will try to invade Europe by way of Greece and the Balkans again?" Seras exclaimed in amazement, twisting her head around to look at her master and gauge his reaction.

His face was a strange mixture of intrigue and suspicion. _There's an emotion I haven't seen him show in a long while_, she thought wryly.

"We're going to be pitched into a genuine World War, my lord and lady." Lady Demir stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in the flawless black suit she wore.

"But why warn us, my Lady Demir? You claim to hold faith to the very religion their ideas spring from," Seras objected, standing up half-way in her seat before the other woman raised her hand to still her.

The olive-skinned beauty began unbuttoning a few buttons to the front of her blazer to expose the bronzed skin of her neck and chest. An ominous, jagged scar crisscrossed the flesh where her stilled heart would rest while a wide, ugly stretch of scar tissue spanned her neck.

"Although I pursue the Faith, my Lady Victoria, I am quite an abomination to my former people and they have shown themselves in the past to have no qualms with killing me when the opportunity arises. But I beg you to not take these crazed radicals as the true practitioners of the Faith. If they invade and succeed in overrunning the Christians here in Europe, we vampires will be the first to go. We can manage a few thousand, just the three of us, but an entire culture out for our blood will sign our final death warrant. We _must_ keep our foothold here in Eastern Europe untouched."

* * *

It was strangely hot in the tangled mess of gold and blue linens. Seras had thrown off most of them in her heated state, tossing and turning restlessly as the temperature turned oppressive. After Lady Demir retired for the day, Seras had vanished into her room. She was in no mood to discuss the subject of marriage with her master so drained and completely devoid of her wits.

_I'm fucking dead. Hot rooms should be my last issue._

Seras groaned, inching up the hem of her gown gradually until it skimmed the tops of her thighs.

_At least Demir took the offer. She'll give notice to her people in Montenegro and join us in Bucharest for the ceremony to bind the states to us. Noor Demir…_

It was then that she felt the vaguely familiar, heated grasp of a hand upon her exposed ankle, an errant thumb stroking over the arch of her foot before the digits skated up the back of her long leg. A hot, wet mouth pressed itself into her throat as a solid weight eased down on the full length of her body, noticeably muscled and very male.

She felt completely paralyzed, either from shock or some unknown manipulation to her wretchedly pinned self.

The mouth pulled off of her neck only to move to the delicate skin along her spine, a tug and accompanying ripping tear at her fine lawn gown stripping it from her back.

Somehow, she managed to summon up the drained reserve of power still coiled within her, pushing up off the feather tick to pin the intruder on their back. Seras was straddling the hard, long body of the man she called master. She bared her teeth in a snarl, bringing her face near his own threateningly.

"You're getting very familiar with me in your old age, master. I don't appreciate this late-afternoon molestation."

The man grinned back up at her flushed face, his dark gaze drifting down to the snare of torn fabric pooled at her waist. She was bared to the waist because of his careless regard to her clothing, but she did not move to cover herself. "I'd dare so far to say you were enjoying yourself, Seras. I was just sneaking in a feel for you before the wedding night, after all."

"And you'll do well to understand there will be nothing happening between us that involves more bonds tying me to you," Seras hissed, pressing the heels of her hands to his shoulders in an effort to pin him.

_I don't have the strength to hold him_, she thought grimly. _He can toss me off like a ragdoll._

"We'll see, Police Girl. After all, what is a weak human vow to our kind? Why such objection to something that will cement your rule as a _regina_?" Alucard coaxed, his shoulders lifting in a shrug.

"I rule perfectly well as the provost. You seem to have lost the value of what marriage is in any case, master. I refuse to marry a man who has given up his humanity."

"And you seem to be missing the idea that I would be equal to you in every manner if you would wed me. You refuse to drink my blood and become truly free of bonds," he rumbled in an irate growl, catching her wrists again in a steely grip as he rose up in a sitting position.

Seras was shocked as the strong, lean fingers of his free hand began to gently work through the strands of hair strewn across her shoulders as his gaze held her own. "You could be so much more than a slave to your obligations and human nature, Seras."

It's a rare moment in a woman's life when the world truly stops turning and everything comes to a sighing, shuddering stop. Even rarer when time itself is no matter to the woman. But everything did stop for Seras when Alucard slanted his thin, expressive lips over her own in a hard kiss.

She gasped, reeling back from the burning touch only to be caught by his hand at the back of her head and pressed harder into the kiss. Her eyes gradually shut and her body relaxed as he delved deeper, his hands roaming over the curve of her hip and the swell of a breast.

_I'm lost to madness_, she thought in mute amazement. She didn't care about the long years of wanting and never having, the restraint and jealousy over attentions she thought impossible to garner. He was here in her bed of his own free will and wanting her and her alone.

Seras gave up logic for the while, shutting out her screaming conscience as she wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself into the hard, strange embrace.

* * *

_Translations for Romanian Phrases:_

_Regina_ – queen


	7. The Friend

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

_HOLY UPDATES, BATMAN!_

_I return! To throw myself at your mercy and beg forgiveness for such a long absence. Heartfelt thanks to the reviewers who pop back in to read the next installment and much thanks to the new reviewers who stumbled across my little yarn!_

Chapter 6 – The Friend

They had broken off from the embrace shortly after the sun had dipped below the trees. Nothing went further than the cursory touches and savage kisses. That was saying something for a man of over six hundred years trying to overcome a virgin just shy of ninety. It was her sense of propriety that had halted them, alongside her bitter feelings of being second class to a dead woman. She knew it well that she was not his first pick under any prior circumstances.

"I will rest with you from now on," he had declared officiously after a few moments of silence. Seras halted her intense staring contest with the damask of the canopy.

"Oh, will you now?" she asked in tired amusement, quite fed up with his demands and behavior. She'd been kissed within an inch of her life without any sort of fulfillment, her body strained between the point of release but not ever reaching it with inattention.

"Yes." He stood from the rumpled bedclothes, his coffin skittering in from the other room on stubby legs it would sometimes materialize out of necessity. It halted next to her preferred side of the bed, the legs dissolving into a fine black mist before the slender piece was at rest on the floor. Alucard made no pretense of preparing for any sort of bedtime ritual, instead disappearing right into the vast recess of that mysterious thing as the lid shut tight on him.

Seras shrugged. She threw the tattered nightgown over his coffin's lid and curled her body under the coverlet, staring off into the dark space of her room. Still fairly throbbing along every inch of skin, she bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. It wouldn't do to entertain the notion of taking her pale hand between her thighs and bring herself to some sort of completion. Alucard would spring like some horror version of a Jack-in-the-Box from his coffin – most likely laughing his head off at his virginal fledgling engaging in such a carnal act on her own steam.

_One can't expect Master to be anyone other than Master._

Gradually the throbbing in those slick folds of flesh abated to something less keen and Seras was able to relax onto her sheets. Her skin lost the temporal flush to it and was once again cool as the breeze. Then her thoughts began to wander in that foggy half-sleep all sentient beings had.

It would always be a push and pull of dominance between them. One would always have their physical or metaphysical barrier in place – a barrier that would bar their emotions from the other like a mask obscuring a face. The situation they were now neatly corralled into called for an easier dialogue between the two, a dialogue that called for cooperation and unity instead of conflict and petulance from both parties.

But for starters, she would settle for friendship in the only way he knew how – to rule her.

* * *

"It's a mark of the times when a practice from the old days comes back around to greet me again," said the old vampire.

"Which would be?" Seras grumbled into her pillow, resolute to steal a few more minutes of rest before the circus of politics would begin.

"Women going without," he answered, running a rough finger along the bare length of her spine until it caught on the fringed lace of her sheet to tug it past her arse. That brought her up off the bed, clutching the recaptured sheet to her chest as she shrieked.

"There's a morning welcome of a good wife. A call to war even the Turks would turn tail at!" Alucard cackled, his form evaporating to rematerialize in the open doorway of her bathroom.

"Yes, go and get out of range, master," Seras seethed. "What's on your agenda tonight, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Wherever the night takes me," he answered enigmatically, his hair and clothes working into order on his own. His lanky frame was soon tailored into a black suit and shirt, a modern tie of blue pinned and knotted at the folded collar.

Seras boggled at the attire as he approached her vanity on the other side of the bed. "Colour for once?"

"Change has its benefits."

Their customary place at the head of the table was waiting for them, but for the first time in a long while her master occupied the grand chair beside her. The clicks and flashes of cameras went off like a miniature fragmentation grenade as soon as they had entered the room.

"A call to order! First on the docket, the terms of negotiations concerning the absorption of the Republic of Serbia," boomed one of her undersecretaries. This introduction was gone over with introductions and opening statements from the statesmen and president of the nation, then repeated by the next until they finished on Slovenia.

_Boring, boring. Politics. The same game with new players_, Alucard whispered into her mind.

She shot him what she hopped was a warning glare, the pointed tip of her shoe nudging his ankle. His shades were in place to hide his eyes – the red was disconcerting to many.

"-and with that, we extend this invitation to the Romanian rulers and their cabinet in hopes that they will be able to marvel at the natural beauty of our countries alongside the individual cultural heritage each has developed over these thousands of years." The President of Bosnia and Herzegovinian bent in a bow towards the head of the table, taking his seat after the polite rounds of applause had died down.

"With due respect sirs, we will have to delay the tour by a few weeks in light of the talks cut short with Rome. We are obligated to fulfill our prior engagements before taking on new ones," Seras said as she met the eyes of all the heads of state.

"But with equal respect expressed towards the holy church, we will turn down further conference with Rome until we've enjoyed the hospitality of our honoured neighbors." Alucard stood and the rest of the room followed suit – Seras remaining in her chair before she mastered herself and rose to her feet. Out went her master into the antechamber, the ministers trailing like a strand of ducklings. The rest of the chapel's occupants were filing out into the courtyard.

"It is odd to see him so active these days, ma'am." There was Nicolae, offering his arm to her which she gladly took.

"It's one of his moods. He'll be sulking in the library in no time once he's bored of it all once again," she assured him. Nicolae shrugged, keeping his comments in check around the large crowd rather than voice them for all to hear.

They sat at the table in the anteroom, Nicolae on her right and Alucard on her left. The rest of their ministers filled in and began to put in their two-pence about the whole affair, some not so enthusiastic and others chomping at the bit to start the tours. Alucard simply rapped a finger on the table and all talking shuddered to a halt. Seras rose from her chair, ready to launch into her argument of solidifying peace with Rome before a cool hand on her wrist silenced her.

All eyes in the room were on Seras alone, but her gaze was set on the man who held the wicked grin on his sharp face. "I'd think our new _regina_ well suited to the task of inspecting the admitted countries, Ministers."

"So we drop what we've worked for months for with Rome?" Seras was incredulous, her eyes darting from one minister to the next. All of them avoided meeting her pleading looks, instead studying the grain in the table's wood or one of the paintings lining the walls. Even Nicolae would not meet her eyes when Alucard was calling the shots.

"This is not a democracy, Seras. You'd do well to remember who rules," Alucard patronized, the grin practically splitting his face.

She fell back into her seat, outmaneuvered for the meanwhile and emotional enough to start blubbering. It wasn't _fair_. She worked harder than he ever had to stitch this place back into something resembling a country to be reckoned with, praying with all her might to be respected by the ministers. But the facts of life were harsh – fear was the more efficient method of control.

Alucard started up again, singling out a few ministers to stay in Bucharest while the rest were expected to travel as an entourage to the royal party.

"Have the trains ready by tomorrow. We'll begin with Serbia by way of Belgrade and work our way from there. Divide and conquer, gentlemen."

* * *

_Translations for Romanian Phrases:_

_Regina – _queen


	8. The Mediator

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

_Much thanks to the lovely reviewers, some of who are familiar faces! Glad to have you still with me. __**Archer8**__, __**darkraistlyn**__, __**Isiis**__, __**MidnightRain6593**__, __**SunMoonNeko**__: You're all diamonds._

_**Archer8 – **__All questions asked are addressed in here! Your review made me seriously consider how to handle said countries and situations, so consider this chapter inspired in part by your perceptive inquiries. Many thanks to you for getting my brain whirling in a set direction for once! _

_This chapter is shamelessly political. It sets up for the war, yada-yada, Alucard naps, et cetera. Mind you that this is all fictionalized and does not reflect any sort of real world situation. IT'S THE PRETEND WORLD!_

_On a side note – one thing I can't stand in fan fiction is copious/complex amounts of original characters that muddle the plot. If they get too much for anyone to handle, pinch me. Noor and Gavrail will be the only recurring ones, mind you._

Chapter 7 – The Mediator

In Bucharest at the turn of the millennium, a man would find the rusticity of the old world intermingling with the standardized remnants of the communist era. Now it was a city to rival its sisters like Prague and Warsaw – some would even say it was fast approaching the size and consistency of Paris or Madrid.

But still, there was much work to be done until Bucharest was a leading city of global power like the rebuilt London or the longstanding Moscow. For now, it was the unofficial capital of the Balkans. A literal shining example of its grandness rested in the record it held for the largest administrative building in the world. It was second only to the Pentagon in space, and was perhaps the most widely controversial building in all of Europe.

The _Palatul Parlamentului_ – built during the communist regime of the madman Ceauşescu – consisted of over a thousand rooms stacking twelve stories high, boasting the final cost of nearly ten billion standardized American dollars.

_It was no use to rid the world of such a useful waste_, Seras commented during the first month of her rule. The building could house an entire parliament including their aides, and on top of that all the ministers and their aides. Still there was room to spare even when both halves of the whole government were in session! She would chance a bet and stake that the five new additions to the mix could comfortably house their independent systems within the Palace of Parliament.

Seras claimed a hall for herself and staff; nothing was too ornate or showy, but the vast expanse of lighted marble that created the arch of the hallway ceiling was an understated impression of prosperity. It ran from one end of the corridor to the next, similar to a never-ending strip of white sky that stayed constantly bright throughout the hours. The young vampire was happy to see that the shocking first impression newcomers had when they got their eyeful of the impressive ceiling was still there. Indeed, the young military men that assisted the big three of the Romanian armed forces – the Supreme Commander of the Army, the Minister of Defense, and the Chief of the General Staff – stumbled along on the carpet that ran the length of the corridor as they gazed upward. Ahead of them were their superiors, grim and intentionally loud in their clicking boot heels as they made their way into the conference room.

Alucard had shocked her yet again and accompanied her to Bucharest the night of the press conference. It was a short flight from Bran to the capital, even shorter when you were the one doing the flying. After smoothing out her windblown hair and skirts into some semblance of order they had advanced towards the innermost soundproofed room in the complex – her conference area. Reinforced with steel and carbon fiber – a pricey commodity bought from their neighbors the Bulgarians – it had one entrance and a confidential emergency exit. When they had arrived the doors were ordered sealed until the military officials had joined. There in one of the upholstered chairs at the long table was Noor in her _hijab_ and two piece suit. Behind her stood the most massive man Seras had ever laid eyes on. Comparably he was a few inches taller than the Captain she had encountered during the Millennium blitz, and much broader built in the body. He reminded Seras of the Russian fighter from that old American film series, Rocky. His fair hair was cropped high and tight into the military flattop style, a broad forehead situated over brooding eyes and thick brows.

"It's the Turk and her pet Russian! How expected," crowed Alucard.

Any further words were cut off with the arrival of the military representatives. After them the statesmen settled in along with the technicians and secretaries. One tapped the glassy surface of the conference table until it flared to life and zoomed in on a sprawling globe to include only the eastern half of the world. The opposing wall of the room also brightened into two views of other dark conference rooms in Moscow and Belgrade.

"This meeting is now live on a secure connection with the Balkan Coalition as well as the Russian Federation. Please state your names for the record," a secretary asked, the room shifting to get a good look at the screens.

"Vlad Dracula. Wake me when it gets interesting." And with that, Alucard stretched out his long body in the chair and shut his eyes.

"Seras Victoria."

"Viorica Craiovescu," said the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces, a tough old bird well into her seventies.

"Nicolae Ionescu."

This went on until it reached the visitors, Lady Demir standing to face the screen fully. A flash and click got a clear picture of her face for the security files; another click captured the face of her companion.

"Noor Demir."

"Gavrail Kozlov," Noor's companion answered in a low rumble.

The other leagues behind the screens repeated the process and signaled that the floor was given to the Romanian government, Seras rising to address them all accordingly.

"Lady Demir has come to us with confidential information that we believe vital in the coming months, if only to give us a tentative warning of a possibility. I can't stress the world possibility enough, gentlemen and ladies, so take this all with a grain of salt. Lady Demir?"

The Turkish woman stood from her chair after Kozlov offered her his arm, stepping closer to the screens to give the cameras a better view.

"Jerusalem and the Greater Gaza Strip, the states of the new Ottoman Empire, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan – these are the names of the governing states that have direct connections to these radical jihadist cells. As you all well know, terroristic activities in the peaceful nations surrounding these countries have increased exponentially over the last forty years. In those forty years there have been a series of coups; radical parties coming into power while riding the ideals of religious and economic conservatism to set the bankrupt, impoverished countries to rights. What we are left with are countries calling for war in both private and public settings, but now we have solid proof that the nations are taking steps towards mobilizing vast aerial and land forces.

Confidential information was leaked to me and a number of other sources that are trusted by your governments and the international community. You have received said information over the course of these last few years, but now we have word from a member of the former Syrian dictator's family that these fears of an endorsed holy war are not so far-fetched."

"We have all received your reports along with our satellite images of the missile sites and troop movements, ma'am. What strikes at the credibility of your story is that Khalid ibn Abdul-Aziz is a loose-tongued playboy who is a step away from being disowned by his own father for excessive spending and numerous scandals. Who is to say he wasn't intentionally planting that information, possibly false information?" That came from the Russian president seated alongside her prime minister.

"Madame President, these facts come as an unfortunate truth to all of us, but you will be receiving confirmation from the People's Republic of China and the Republic of India in the next few hours. An informant has assured me that their intelligence networks have both picked up a codified document bearing the authorized signatures of the men running these radical governments along with their chosen military strategists. This is no private backing of a war by wealthy statesmen – this is a unified assault on Europe and Asia, perhaps the world."

This was met with silence until that was broken with a roar of voices from all sides.

"It's finally come upon us! It was a disaster during the Reclamation War of '26! Now we have to contend with the beast Israel has become after the Jews were blown to kingdom come! Greater Gaza Strip indeed," screeched the Russian prime minister.

"Not to mention the overthrowing of our allies in Turkey and those nice little coups in Lebanon and Syria. That's _two _countries absorbed into their borders. More elbow room for the radicals to throw their weight around; an entire section of the Middle East is now officially hostile with no buffer states to cut it in half. That upstart they're being ridden by is flirting with the idea of re-establishing the sultanate. He's already making steps towards it with renaming the whole blasted thing after the old empire." Premier Grgić's familiar voice spoke from the Balkan Coalition connection; apparently he was already with his parliament in light of the new information.

"How much support can we expect from the democratic nations of Iraq or Jordan…the Saudi sheikhdoms? There's no question that our satellite nations will support and maintain the borders along the north of the radical states. Russia will provide." Another insert came from the Russian party.

"I think it's time to call China and India, hope to whatever God above that they won't panic and run to the United Nations for sanctions just yet, _then_ call Greece. They're the ones with a portion of these damned bullies on their side of the straits along with Bulgaria. It'll be history repeating itself if the Ottoman states come trudging across to take us back." The Balkan Coalition spun off into unintelligible tangents such as that, drowned out by another rising voice from the room Seras herself was in.

"China won't say a peep. They'll just arm the missiles and mobilize. India will take their cue and do just that. Then it's the waiting game until the radicals make their move. No telling what the sheiks or Egypt will do. Jordan will take a hint from the Saudis and stay the hell out of it all unless they're forced to choose a side. Iraq will go squealing to the States if they catch the slightest hint of conflict. Look how badly they botched up the Reclamation War!" Commander Craiovescu was a veteran of the Reclamation War and was quite outspoken on the issue in a normal conversation – now she was practically frothing at the mouth in the throes of a passionate rant.

"QUIET, PLEASE!" Seras bellowed over the din, some of it dying down until additional hushing was hissed towards the ones still jabbering.

"This will require an additional meeting – in the flesh, as it were. We'll smooth out the details as we go." Nods of agreement were seen on all ends at this proposal.

"The Russian Federation volunteers Moscow as the meeting place," called the Russian president.

"All in favour?" Seras called, raising her hand to pass the motion. All other hands followed her lead.

The meeting was concluded, another procession of people filing out yet another door. Seras slumped into her seat. A quick glance over at Alucard's chair and she was caught in the red gaze of her master.

"The subject got interesting, I take it?" she scoffed.

"This is all my youth rewinding, in a sense. Now I'm starting to believe I'm being born backwards," he mused, a crooked smile lighting up his face.

"Don't say things like that. The world hasn't done a thing to deserve such luck."

"I would concur with you, Lady Victoria." Noor had come to their end of the table with her towering friend, another vampire if the red tinge of his eyes was anything to go by.

"Up for a bit of hard travel, Turk? Your soldier boy can come as well." Alucard's eyes glinted with a familiar fervor as he sized up the other male. Familiar in the fact that it was the same look he gave enemies whom Seras figured were on level ground with him physically. Looks he gave Anderson during her early days with Hellsing – an opportunity of an interesting fight.

Noor shot her an exasperated look that caused both of them to roll their eyes ceiling-ward.

Men were impossible, no matter the species.


	9. The Soother

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

_If you're noticing any minor changes in the earlier chapters – that's me combing through them for housekeeping. I nitpick at every little error or awkward line. Must fix it! No beta reader, woe is me!_

_**Angel Reaper**, **darkraistlyn**, **GG**, **Isiis**, **Keracka**, **MidnightBlueNabi**, **XChibiKissesX**: Thank you all, blessed reviewers! You fuel the fingers to type._

_**Angel Reaper**__ – I labour on to finish! I'm aiming for twenty-five to thirty chapters, so expect more. Alucard is about as predictable as a rogue missile and very challenging to keep as in-character as possible for me._

_**GG**__ – As requested, more AxS in this chapter! We were lacking some development with their situation, so it works out perfectly._

_**Isiis – **__You never quite know who is playing for whom until the critical point comes! Seras does need more love as a strong character in this fandom. She is so dynamic to write!_

Chapter 8 – The Soother

It was only a twelve hour trip by train to Belgrade. However, it would be _two _trains following the tracks towards Serbia. One was a decoy with only officials, the other conveying the royal party. It was an old policy borne out of necessity since the day modern transportation came to powerful governments. The Tsar of Russia before the revolution would choose last minute which of his two trains to board in an effort to throw off assassination attempts.

For vampires, it was more of a concern that they would be sleeping during the transit. Seras was sure that Alucard would barely crack an eyelid if his railcar was blown off the tracks, but she was desperate for a few hours of uninterrupted peace after the long night. Another worry was the increase in terrorist activity, but the spontaneity of the plan to travel by train was so sudden enough to suggest that nearby cells would have no time to plan an attack.

There was a steward directing the flow of passengers, passengers either associated with the Romanian government or Serbia's. The lucky few that managed to rank high enough to snag suites were high-tailing it to their appointed railcars in fear of being reassigned to a simpler cabin with only upright accommodations.

As the rulers, they were allotted their own private coach. What irked Seras is that there was only one bed in the cramped compartments, and Alucard's coffin was apparently buried deep in the baggage car.

Noor and Gavrail had their coffins wheeled into their own compartment in the front of the train for their rest, bidding both her and Alucard a good night. The first fingers of dawn were beginning to edge under the shades pulled along the windowed passageway of the car. Seras turned on her heel, not sparing her worse half a second glance as she made her way back through the interconnecting halls braced between the cars. A quick nod to the security detail posted at the door of their coach and she was safely ensconced in the sumptuous stateroom.

Alucard soundlessly followed, drifting by to snatch up the blood packet cooling in an ice-filled basin.

Seras cracked the door to the small bedroom compartment with a small measure of relief. Her master was stretching out on the settle, doing away with his tie and shades while the blood packet drained itself into a wine glass set aside for the purpose.

"Night, sir."

He flicked his fingers in what she guessed was a dismissal, the curtains pulling low over all the windows at his will.

* * *

It couldn't have been more than a few hours until she was being roughly shaken awake.

"_Girl_," hissed an urgent voice in Romanian. She tensed, reaching up to grasp the assailant firmly by the throat – she was quite ready to rip it out at the interruption – but the coolness of the skin gave her pause.

Seras had no trouble seeing in the dark, and what her eyes were registering now was her master suspended over her prone body.

_Here we go again._

"Sir," she replied calmly in English. "Go and rest already, will you?"

"Where is Van Helsing?" His English accent was heavily slurred by a Romanian lilt, the 'Where' coming out as more of a 'Vhere'.

"…dead?" Seras was dumbfounded. This particular dream was one he had never bothered sharing with her. It was even more of a rarity to find him mentioning the years before Hellsing at all.

"NO! He was there. He took her from _me,_" he hissed.

"Mary, mother of God." Her arms locked in a vice-like grip around the column of his neck to wrench him down and cradle his head to her breast. One inhale and another unneeded movement of air through her chest had his body tensing less.

She'd see the dreams sneak up on him at the most inconvenient of times. He'd wake befuddled and fit to kill out of rage and confusion. On the rougher nights, the dreams would linger. In close quarters, Seras was quick to learn that certain things soothed the savage beast.

Drawing on an old memory from her childhood, she had clasped him to her chest not unlike her mother had done for her father when he was distressed. Whether it was a dear friend killed in their line of work or the situations where her father had to kill a criminal, he would come to her mother in his broken state and sob into her warm throat. Seras would watch from a doorway quietly, afraid to shatter the moment between her parents even when she was small and didn't know any better.

"Lay your head, man." A hand stroked over the curling wisps of his inky hair, strands clinging to her skin and curling like a creeper vine around her wrist.

Time lapsed in the tight space. Alucard was by no means small or light; the weight of him was enough to give her the pleasant feel of heaviness bearing down on her. He took up the better part of the bed tucked into half the room, booted feet hanging at an odd angle off the edge rather than putting them _through _the wall.

"Forgive the disturbance," he muttered in Romanian after an hour of silence passed. She drew in another useless breath while easing his body up, her hands curving around his jaw to tilt his head and meet his tired eyes.

"I know you think I'm the weakest, meekest thing to ever be considered one of your own. But you should know that _I _am here, sir. I've waited on you longer than any other on this Earth." That took more than a little pluck for her to speak out loud. Seras choked, burying her face in shame in the only haven she knew. His hair had no distinguishable smell to it beside the scent of blood and old iron, but it had to be the finest silk-like strands ever to grace a head.

"I do love you," she murmured into his hair after a few trickles of blood etched lines down her cheeks. A long hand wrapped around her throat, crushing on her windpipe as he pulled her mouth down into a hard kiss. They stayed locked together for what seemed like hours, tongues twining intricately and reaching to trace along every curve and ripple of the other.

They broke apart, a thin string of saliva linking the wet pink to his darker red flesh before it disappeared in the closing space. Their closed mouths met in one final press, barely touching and as fragile as tension between them.

She didn't know how he was capable of any tenderness, but she had seen mercy and compassion from him once. It was certainly a day for small miracles when he began to trace gloveless fingertips over the reddened bow of her lips only to move to the arc of her brows. Every inch of her face seemed precious to his ageless eyes, something to commit to memory and hold there for as long as time lasted.

He exhaled against the wet skin of her cheeks. A thick, long tongue slithered out to trace the dried trails of blood that had bled from her eyes. All that was left behind was clear skin.

A delayed reply came. It was more than she could ever have hoped for and at the same time not enough, but Seras was a woman who had learned to make do with what one was given.

"I know."


	10. The Date

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

_Another speedy update. Much thanks to the viewers and reviewers! __**SadandLonelyOne**__ and __**XChibiKissesX**__: You're diamond dolls!_

Chapter 9 – The Date

A smack to her rump brought her out of the foggy sleep. Alucard was waiting impatiently at her bedside and dressed to the nines in a black leisure suit. Before she could snap off some angry retort about personal boundaries, he threw a dark wad of fabric into her lap.

The dress was at least tasteful, if a tad short after she had unfurled it for inspection. A pair of strappy heels was dangling from his fingers.

"Nice shoes. You've certainly got the legs for them."

"Funny. Get up," he ordered with a maniacal grin. Seras obediently rose to her feet, tangling a hand in her serious case of bed-head to try and tease out a few knots manually.

"We're going out for drinks. Like a normal couple, yes?" He motioned her over, pointing to the undone length of red silk hanging from his shirt collar. "If you please, Police Girl." Again, she followed his instruction with a few easy twists and tugs. A perfectly professional tie was the result of her short work.

"You're more than adequate at this. Who's taught you how to do a man's tie?" he scowled in suspicion.

"My _father_ taught me. He'd let me do his tie every morning before he left for patrol. I had to do mine every morning after I got into the force."

"So your choice was influenced by your father? I had no idea," he said airily.

"You've never asked, sir."

* * *

They were tucked into a cozy nook in some dimly lit bar soon enough. The walk had been a brisk, quiet journey from the train station as the new sights had absorbed her so much she kept her eyes off the streets and to the skyline of Belgrade. Alucard had kept her on course with a heavy hand on the small of her back.

The place was busy, but the corner booth behind a partition provided some privacy for them. Alucard ordered the drinks that were speedily brought to their table. A few minutes passed in silence before he shifted, setting down his glass beside her martini.

"Questions. Since you are about to become my lawfully wedded wife and I your husband, there should be no secrets between us."

"Alright, you first." She tilted the glass back to her mouth, nearly gagging at the fruitiness of the cocktail.

"What is your color of choice?"

Seras threw her head back in a genuine laugh, the sound bubbling to her lips unbidden. A few heads turned at the sound.

"Blue. My turn. How do you know Noor?"

"Ah, do I sense some jealousy from you, little Seras?" he crowed, a swift kick from under the table only widening his delighted grin. That ego of his could swell to enormous proportions if a person wasn't careful of how they phrased their words around him.

"She was the chattel of the sultanate, confined to the harem as an odalisque to one of the concubines. We were well acquainted by the time I was released from the palace."

"Released?" she prodded, knowing well enough what exactly had gone on in her master's younger years by way of historical accounts and legend. It was still thrilling to hear it from the source itself.

"I was held as a political hostage. My father traded my younger brother and myself to the Turks as a sign of obedience, forsaking the oath he took as one of the Order."

"The Order?"

"_Ordinul Dragonului_," he rasped out in his native tongue.

"Order of the Dragon." Seras caught on to the translation easy enough.

"Noblemen who swore an oath to defend Christendom from those who would challenge the authority of Christ," he explained.

"Radu was quick to give into persuasion. He was converted to Islam and became a commander of the Janissaries. For years the sultans had taken noble's sons from the Balkans into their elite guard as a way of control, but they failed in recruiting me into that rabble. I was beaten systematically for my outspoken nature during my time in the palace. The Sultan Murad used me after he grew tired of Radu. Apparently, he favored the boys who put up a struggle."

Seras blinked, but soon understanding dawned. "You mean the sultan…?"

"Sodomized me regularly. I was eleven when he first took me. The pleasure I reaped from desecrating his remains was substantial." He gave her a sharp-toothed grin.

Seras wasn't quite sure how to best respond to that, her mind full of wild confusion and pity for the abused youth her master had been. She drew in a lungful of air before changing the subject to something less disturbing. "What about Gavrail? Noor made him?"

"During the war. He was cornered into some shithole in Stalingrad during the Nazi siege. She turned him before he succumbed to his wounds. Now I get to ask you not one but _five_ consecutive questions. Your middle name?"

"Elizabeth." The server came back with eagerly awaited fresh drinks; Seras knocked back another martini to brace herself for the next round of questioning. It was nerve-wracking to have Alucard pry after so many years of disinterest.

"The first thing that came to your mind when you first laid eyes on me?"

"Holy Lord, I'm going to die." She batted her lashes, faking a dramatic expression for his amusement.

"Be serious," he snorted.

Seras paused, her mouth halfway open before she found the right words. "Save me."

"How did you feel towards Bernadotte?"

"I loved him," she answered frankly, another swig of the frilly drink slithering down her throat. She was on the second one. No, the third! Everything was starting to run together.

"Did you mourn Integra's passing?"

"Yes…and no," she stumbled awkwardly on the answer.

"Elaborate."

"She was my commander. Of course I mourned her. But I had the nerve to be glad she was gone," Seras muttered, fixing him with a direct, steady gaze.

"That's enough." He held his hand up, signaling a stop to the flow of drinks and the questions. The same hand dived beneath the table to rustle into his coat pocket.

"I had the servants pick it out and send it along before we left. Just a trinket." He shrugged offhandedly, pushing a jeweler's box across the scuffed tabletop. If Seras had a heartbeat, it would be rolling to a shuddering stop. She popped open the lid and laid her boggling eyes on the prize within.

In it was the most elaborate ring she'd ever laid eyes on. A sparkling, pear-shaped diamond rested in a platinum setting flanked by braces of sapphires.

Alucard was smirking at her dumbfounded expression when she gathered her wits enough to raise her head. He plucked the ring from the bed of velvet and slid it easily onto her slim finger. A perfect fit.

"I've guessed right on your preferred color, it seems."


	11. The Lounger

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

_Woe on the absentee writer. A huge thank you to the dedicated reviewers who breathed life into these writing fingers! The block of the writers had me in its dirty clutches for quite some time. You may notice some changes as I revamp (pun intended) the previous chapters for grammar errors and plot holes! Read on, dear reader!_

Chapter 10 – The Lounger

They had stayed out the following morning for the tour of the city. Chaperoned by the Serbian party, they had been conveyed from one Belgrade marvel to the next. Seras had added a wide-brimmed hat and stylish bolero jacket to her evening attire to make herself more appropriate, black shades in place to shield her eyes from the sun. Alucard had materialized that old fedora from thin air, modifying the red fabric to a somber black to match the suit.

The two had waved off any further planned events by pleading exhaustion. Of course, Seras was the one who had insisted. Far be it from her master to plead a headache or tiredness – Alucard would simply vaporize without a word. Politeness still was one of her strong points, even as one of the undead.

It was a quiet evening on the train. Dinner had been a quick packet of O Negative. Now all that was left was either paperwork or procrastination. Seras picked the latter. So the Draculina set herself up on the settle with a plush throw and simmering cup of coffee – a delicious chicory roasted brand from Columbia, the box had boasted. She dropped a teaspoon or so of the O Neg in for good measure – it was unpleasant to bring up what the dead body rejected. And messy.

She had secreted away the ring into her bedside table. Most women wanted that most important symbol of achievement on their finger, but to Seras it still left an empty swell of bitterness rising in her gullet everytime she got an eyeful of the blasted thing glistening on her hand. Only a few hours with it on had been torture. She fancied how the woman in that one novel with the scarlet 'A' felt with the damning letter sewed to her gowns. Only in this case, Seras was branded with a fat 'S' for second-rate. She wasn't his preferred choice in ideal mates.

The countryside was whizzing by through the windows; the train was set to full speed towards the Montenegrin capital of Podgorica. They would pick up the necessary diplomats and make for the seaside town of Tivat the same day, settling down at Noor's home to rest and regroup before resuming the tour up the coast towards Sarajevo.

A click to the clear pane of plastiglass and the screen rose from the recess behind the opposing couch. It was massive, composed of the same see-through material the remote was fashioned from. A few clicks and she was sorting through the library of classical films stored on the device. One in particular stopped her from scrolling.

_Dracula._

"Ha!" she shouted, tapping the tiny remote to select the film title.

The screen dimmed into black and white, the first strains of the _Swan Lake_ suite flowing out of the speakers. The lid to Alucard's coffin cracked.

"I figured the Tchaikovsky would lure you out."

"I won't deny I'm partial to him. Both his music and his blood were very soothing in my younger years," he said. "Did you know that some traits can practically be tasted? Take Tchaikovsky for instance. High notes of _notes_ in that blood." His face screwed up, memory taking his wonderfully complex brain back to yesteryear. As usual, he snapped back to some semblance of reality after reliving the moment.

"Ever had one you _weren't_ partial to?" she queried, her brow curving like the arc of a question mark.

"Bach was disgusting. I've never sank my fangs into a fatter, greasier neck. It was like sucking from a pig," he grouched, stretching out alongside her in all his suited glory. His boots were carelessly digging into the fine inlay of a rather pricy coffee table, however. In a moment of uncharacteristic assertiveness, she kicked them from her precious piece with ease.

The glove was thrown down, so to speak. Her master swiveled to give her a long hard look, a crooked grin spreading on his smug mug like the Cheshire Cat's own toothy smile.

"Have you ever seen this version?" she asked succinctly, hoping to veer his attentions on something that didn't involve his hands on her. Whatever remained of human hormones was skittering on her nerves, tap-dancing on her ever shortening patience for these games they played.

"You'll begin to tally up all of the famous humans you've drained if you start _feeding_ yourself the natural way, Seras. No. Hellsing had me under lock and key when this was first being shown. I barely got a look at my own face, much less a theater screen."

Mumbled speech from the speakers halted any further discourse on that prickly subject. The Hellsing family could rot, for all she could care. And they were rotting. Every last one down to the finality of the line – Integra.

They were the constant – master and servant, maker and fledgling, sovereign and subordinate. And soon to be locked in that earthly engagement of husband and wife. The notion still sent a nervous jitter up her spine. Seras snapped herself out of that unwelcome train of thought and focused on the screen.

The brides were ghostly in their trailing gowns and pale skin, bright in the dark crypt of the film's castle.

"Van Helsing must have squealed to Stoker about his romp in Transylvania. Ileana and Otilia were both dark-haired, Estera was the fair-haired one."

"What were they like?"

"Vicious whores fueled by bloodlust. They suited me during those times. High maintenance, though. It's hard to keep three mature vampires fed properly in a desolate mountain range."

The lovely Mina made her way onto the television's screen, radiant and wide-eyed in her innocence.

"Was she blonde in reality?" she whispered, hushed by the low-toned dialogue of the actors.

"She was," he answered – a touch of nostalgia was starting to creep into his voice.

When the camera would stop on Dracula and one of his devious expressions, she'd dissolve into a fit of laughter. Alucard was not so amused. "I've never been portrayed as the village simpleton. I should sue for misrepresentation. Or butcher the actor."

"Bela Lugosi's been dead for over a century, though!"

"Sue and butcher his offspring, then."

Any further discourse on revenge for her master's skewered image was interrupted by the appearance of the filmmaker's coup de grâce. An off-screen puppeteer controlled a bat that jerked wildly about –cutting edge for the 1930s. In this century, it seemed like a silly hoax.

"What is this nonsense?" Alucard deadpanned, staring blankly at the screen.

"Th-that's _you _in your frightening disguise, sir!" Seras tipped forward onto the floor, clutching at her sides as she nearly laughed up a useless lung.

Alucard was not amused.


	12. The Guest

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

Chapter 11 – The Guest

She woke up in a tangle of limbs. And with a head filled with cotton. Dusk leaked through the blinds on the window in her small bedroom compartment, and she hissed as the weak light hit her eyes. Both of them had plowed through a full two bottles of heavy Merlot.

Most of her clothes were on – somehow she had gotten into a pair of sweats and a soft cotton tee. He remained fully clothed save for his missing jacket and boots. Face down in the pillows and half submerged under her coverlet, he took up the better part of the bed and then some. She was trapped against the wall as he slept on, blocking her way out.

"Sleep," came his muffled voice from the pillows. "Stop fidgeting and sleep."

Curling her toes for a good crack of the bones, she limbered up with a stretch to lay out alongside him. Surprisingly, he radiated warmth. She curled on her side, tugging the coverlet back over herself with a contented yawn. A red eye cracked open to stare balefully at her.

"For the undead, you move in slumber like a child."

"Restless, I guess." She stared at the ceiling.

A soft rap came at the door. "Provost Victoria?"

"Yes?" she called, sitting up to stare pointedly at the door. Alucard snorted, throwing a pillow over his head before rolling onto his side.

"We'll be arriving in Podgorica within the hour," said the aide, a quaver of fear in his voice. She couldn't blame him. Most would draw straws to see who entered the dragon's den with her master in residence.

"Thank you," she called, dismissing the poor sod before falling back into the pillows.

"The Turk wanted us to drop in on her and the Russian after the conference," Alucard stated matter-of-factly into the pillow.

"What for?"

"Niceties. Private conversation."

"I thought we were visiting the coast tomorrow?"

"It seems, Police Girl, that the matter is urgent. She came in around the time you were slumped dead drunk over the couch arm to convey the need."

Seras burned with shame, slapping a pillow smartly across his back.

* * *

The meeting was blessedly brief.

Attired in their somber black, they strode up the cheery little path to the respectable villa situated on the edge of the street in the village of Tivat. Out before it stretched a small bit of beach before the Adriatic sloped up onto the sand in crashing waves. The wind was fierce this time of year, nipping at the hem of her skirts and threatening to tear her lacey veil from her hair.

A heel caught on a cobblestone, causing her to do an awkward half step before Alucard caught her elbow, righting her and setting her arm into the crook of his. His steady, measured gait evened out until they were pacing evenly along the remainder of the path.

"You and I will have to work on your queenly step, Seras."

She shook her head at him. "Won't that be a sight? Should I call you Professor Higgins?"

"I plucked you up from the gutter of humanity well enough and shaped you into something glorious, did I not?"

"And here I was hoping I was something glorious to you before you made me," she teased. There was no bite of malice in her tone, not even in her heart. Things needed to be let go if they were to go forward with this.

"If ever there was a Pygmalion who shaped his Galatea from the raw essence of the earth and breathed life into her, we are their embodiment." Alucard drawled, grinning down with his wicked teeth out in full.

"The only difference is that he was in love with the statue when she was only stone, and loved her even more when she was made flesh and blood."

Alucard shot her a strange look, his mouth opening to retort. Then the door to the villa was thrown open, Noor striding out into the dusk to greet them warmly. She was attired in soft robes of a lovely purple, her coverings discarded in favor of comfort. Long, glossy hair hung in waves to her waist unbound.

"Welcome, friends. Enter of your own will and be welcome."

Gavrail was absent from the tiny solar. They sat down to the tiny glass table and squeezed into the delicate chairs that looked like they'd break under the weight of a feather. Plants of every kind overcrowded the space, giving the room an earthy smell. Noor offered them tea. Seras kindly knocked back a cup of Darjeeling to steel her nerves and her aching head. Who said vampires were impervious to all earthly pains?

"There's a reason for the conflict mounting in the Islamic states," Noor enunciated with some degree of care after some attempts at conversation were made. Alucard was never one for small talk. "A reason we're responsible for. I'm not sure how it slipped out, but the information was leaked to the wrong person and now they know."

The 'we' hung in the air.

_Vampires?_

"There was a breakthrough. You know the geneticist Rong Xue from Xi'an? She's been working on her own concoctions for nearly a century with funding from a good portion of the vampire community. Stem cell research. Regenerative tissues. Posthumous experimentation. Reproductive capabilities."

"This is starting to sound like a line from that awful Shelley book," Alucard muttered.

A thick file was placed on the table between them and Noor. Seras reached for it, but Noor placed a gentle hand on the top of the hefty pile. She looked at her, then Alucard. Apprehension was written across her face.

Finally, she flicked it open. Labeled across the front page were meaningless statistics to Seras's eyes. Closer inspection revealed them to be medical reports. Individual cases were sorted further in the back after a bit of pruning through the leaves of paper. Names bubbled up on the pages. Names she didn't quite recognize, but Alucard tensed up slightly after flicking his eyes over a few of them.

"Project Lazarus?" Seras asked after the watermark containing the name came up again on the next page. And the one after that. And the proceeding.

"I wanted to explain myself and Gavrail to the both of you," Noor admitted after a pregnant pause.

"Spit it out, Turk. What've we done this time to raise that rabble to arms?" Alucard drawled.

"Defied the laws of nature."

"Too late for that," he muttered, stretching out in his chair.

"No. We _really_ have done it this time," Noor insisted, her tone dipping in pitch. She twisted her hands in her lap. Seras figured it to be the most human gesture the woman had ever shown.

"What is it, then?" he snapped, his patience for her cryptic answers wearing thin…which wasn't a stretch in her expert opinion.

"Mummy!" shouted a shrill little voice, piercing the conversation like a needle to a flimsy balloon.

Seras turned, confusion swamping her. There were two little girls in the doorway, dark hair hanging down their backs in pretty curls. Their skin was lighter than Noor's but the resemblance was unmistakable. One had her thumb firmly stuck in her mouth, clutching a well-worn teddy absently. The other was all business – arms crossed and a hard pout forming on her rosebud mouth.

The eldest of the pair spoke first. "Papa said no popsicles before dinner! You promised!" She stamped her foot. Noor drew herself up from the chair, bowing politely to the pair of them before facing the children.

She barked out in Turkish, swooping down on the pair like an angry mother hawk. Her chicks scattered, the eldest shooting a look of childish curiosity at Seras as they retreated down the hall. Seras couldn't blame her.

Who knew her jaw could hang this wide open?


	13. The Inquirer

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

Chapter 12 – The Inquirer 

Steeling herself with another cup of Darjeeling in the less formal kitchen, Seras sat down to hear yet another long retelling. She must've asked ten questions at once after the children had been sent away.

Were they adopted?

She birthed them?

How was that possible?

Did they feed on blood?

All were patiently answered. Alucard remained silent and passive beside her. It frustrated her so badly she wanted to tear his perfect hair out by the root.

It was a miracle! He should be as giddy as her at the thought. Life was possible.

"Rong Xue has been on the forefront of scientific development since the conception of modern medicine. She's been able to synthesize certain cells with a dissolution that literally shapes…a miracle. One shot every two days into a viable female and it can reinstate a state of living stasis – an environment in which conceiving and carrying a child to full term become a probability, not impossibility. The Lazarus cells swamp the vampiric cells to regenerate and rewrite their genetic code – but the cells eventually…reset, to an extent. Therefore repeated doses are needed to keep the body stabilized.

The same goes for the male. Just one shot before an attempt and they're…revitalized with the genetic material to fertilize an egg successfully with no apparent defects or throwbacks."

Noor flushed a healthy shade of red. It fascinated Seras to no end. She reached a hand across to graze a finger along the fine crest of the Turkish woman's cheek. Warmth radiated. Veins flushed with healthy, thriving blood flowed under the skin. Needed breath was inhaled and exhaled out of a set of working lungs – no longer did she hold of the appearance of dead stillness.

* * *

Alucard had left with a quiet word she couldn't catch – even with her good vampiric senses. She tried to shrug it off, focusing instead on the woman across from her. The double doors in the kitchen were thrown open to catch the evening breeze. Two little girls were chasing each other around in the small garden on the terrace, occasionally darting back to the patio to play teatime with their clunky old china and chipped teacups.

"Hadassah will be five next November. Evren just had her second birthday last month. And our newest is only three months. With another on the way," Noor demurred, clutching at the softly rounded belly beneath her silk-swathed body. Gavrail's eyes widened in a beam in his usually surely countenance.

"We hope for boy again this time – even out number," he rasped, clasping his huge hands onto Noor's shoulders. His mate blushed, her hand reaching up to spread over his own. Seras looked away, feeling like an invader in a very private moment.

"It is the all important question. How do we exist if not by the will of God? Christianity and Judaism preach of the first wife of Adam who came and was made cold and hungry for the blood of man. Even the oldest of our kind cannot recall such a creature. Lines of progeny and creator stretch back as far as memory can serve, but we find no beginning. Only dead ends."

Hadassah was hopping out on the stones of the patio, her sibling tottering after her like a tiny lady-in-waiting.

"How was it? Carrying them," Seras murmured, afraid that if she voiced it too loud this wonderful dream would fracture and fall away. Then she would wake up cold and dead in her bed with nary a hope for the endless stretch of years awaiting her passage.

Noor had a look of rapture on her face. "It was indescribable. The living don't know how blessed they are. First it's like a tiny hook moored in your womb – you sense little tugs and flutters. Like a fish on the line. Then it matures, grows. Your body changes for the first time in centuries without your own manipulations. Nature takes root and your belly swells.

A pain starts after months of silent waiting. Small at first, then surging in waves across your body. It is an annoyance compared to what human women experience with their low tolerance for it. You sweat and swear through it, writhing and arching and wanting for it all to be over.

Then the world stops spinning for a time and your body is empty. Then you're handed this tiny little thing. And it is looking up at you with all the goodness in the world and you realize that there is a God somewhere. For nothing could bless you more in this fate than looking upon something you've crafted with your blood and body alongside the love of another."

Gavrail had exited earlier only to return with a swaddled bundle. She could hear cooing from within the tucks and folds of the blankets as he handed it off to Noor. Noor breathed deep, the harsh lines of her face softening as she looked upon what was held within. Seras reached out, fingers trembling. Noor smiled and place the light little body in her arms.

She'd never held an infant before. The cradle she made with her arms was awkward, but Noor carefully adjusted her grip tactfully. Soon she was pacing the length of the patio, crooning to the fat little face nestled into the soft cloth. When he yawned, there was nothing but pink gums. No fangs. No red eyes. For all appearances, it was a living child.

But Seras could feel that strange tripping heart beat and the strength in the tiny little body.

"Anton," Noor provided after Seras sent her an inquiring look. "Gavrail drew the line with the eastern names I laid on the girls. He wanted his son to have a good Orthodox name."

"It is a good name," Seras said in agreement, gently tweaking the little button nose. He would be a looker later in life – his mother's almond shaped eyes were already there. And the nose was looking to be shaping up into the more straight edged type like his father's, not the beaky nose his mother sported.

"Will you come and visit often after the war is won? It gets a bit lonely out here. Gavrail takes over on the weekends, but he's the one really running the Ministry at the moment. I prefer to stay at home with the children and the army of stuffed animals. The mortals would talk if they saw me sporting a huge belly."

"You'll have a hard time keeping me out of the house," she laughed, twirling on her heel to the delight of the baby. He gurgled, little bubbles of spit popping on his lip. It was amazing.

"How many are there?" she asked, hoping Noor would pick up on the meaning quick enough.

"Over twenty couples successfully carried to full term. All the children are shooting up like weeds. Normal maturation rate – just like mortals. The oldest are a pair of six year old twins belonging to the Días family in Bogotá. No telling when they'll stop aging on the dot, but it's predicted the Lazarus cells born into them will die down in activity in their late twenties…early thirties at most."

"Oh," said Seras in quiet wonderment, her eyes riveted on the little child in her arms. He gurgled back.

"Now the question. Would you care to attempt it after the war is won?"


	14. The Poised

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

Chapter 13 – The Poised

"I will say a few things on this. State weddings are a hard thing to keep under wraps," Seras grouched as a slew of seamstresses and de mode designers swamped her in yards of chiffon, lace, and satin.

"I just flash the paparazzi my fangs and they skitter off. It'll all die down once you're married off and the royalty clears out for their own countries."

"Knock on wood," Seras said, tapping a nail to the mirror's frame. She was poised on a roundel of an upholstered stool, standing stock still for the women around her as they fitted, pinned, clipped, and cinched her within an inch of her un-life.

Noor made a noise of surprise from somewhere below her knees.

"Hmm?" Seras turned her head carefully down, mindful of all the pins sticking into her in the most unlikely of places. Sudden movement might cause an uncomfortable pinch – but the danger was in bleeding all over the impossibly delicate fabric.

"The cut of this is what the noble ladies of Wallachia wore in court around his time, silly goose. Where'd you get such a concept from?" Noor fiddled with the pleats of the skirt, patiently threading the needle through the fine material as a seamstress behind her lost her little mind.

Seras shot the girl a look, quieting down the situation. Noor apparently was a good hand at it – and much faster than a normal human with their slow, clumsy movements. She had a neatly done row of stitches within a few seconds.

"I haven't the faintest – what does it matter? It's a fresh look."

Noor raised an eyebrow, but didn't pursue the question further. She'd be leaving Bucharest in a few hours to mind the kids on the coast – they wouldn't be coming up for the wedding. Too much of a security concern to risk it. But Noor and Gavrail would be in attendance.

"Any idea when this will be over?" she asked a woman sewing up another row of stitches.

The one woman brave enough to head up the operation looked up from her work, staring crossly at the soon-to-be monarch with a mouthful of pins cinched between her lips. It was enough to send Seras into a round of good natured chuckles.

"_Doamna_, stop it. You look like a cross porcupine," she managed to edge in-between her laughter. The woman snorted, quite fed up with the antics of the two vampires. Seras quieted down, and all went back to their work. Little time was left before the wedding – only a week and a few odd days.

They had finished up the tour with little incident. Alucard had behaved, but on the stipulation that they speak later on the subject of the Lazarus cells _after_ the wedding. She had conceded, seeing little of her bridegroom save for when they both lay down to sleep.

A gown was being made for her – rather, made with last minute touches. Soon it would be gathered in swathes of powdered linen and packed away in a chest until the morning of the wedding.

True to form, as she was one to never shy away from the truth of the matter, Seras had decided on a rather unorthodox design for her wedding frock. Surmounting even the wedding gown proper was a surcoat that she would simply shrug into. It would hang unbelted from her shoulders and fall to the ground, split grandly in the front to reveal the bodice and skirts of the slim gown beneath but trailing behind her in a queenly stretch of ivory that fairly blanketed the area in white.

It was satin with a web work of lace appliqué covering every blessed inch of it.

She had decided on modesty. The high neck of the under gown choked her throat, but Noor and the others had crooned and petted over the fabric, lauding the look on her small frame. Seras had caved.

The fabric of the under gown was cinched at her waist with a girdle of wiry platinum and seed pearls, the train billowing out in a carefully measured fall of satin from the small of her back to drag a mere three feet behind her – Seras last marked the surcoat's train at least seven feet in length when she donned it over the gown. The sleeves of the under gown were fitted tight to her slim arms up until her wrists, and then flared out over her hands in a froth of satin.

Shoes were already on hand, but modified a bit to fit her dainty size. They were low to the ground – only a mere inch of a heel. Seras wasn't going to push her luck this day with such a huge amount of fabric to move on her own steam. High heels might hamper her cautious grip on balance. She'd die before she fell flat on her face on international television.

The fabric was glossy – done in the same lace appliqué as the gown. It covered the toes and the front of her foot, but left her heel bare of any support. She walked more on her toes than anything else in an effort to keep the slick material from falling right off mid-step.

She did sigh over the pointed, vampy tips of her little shoes that peeked out from beneath the weighted hem of her gown. No one would get a proper look at them unless she lifted up the skirts a good few inches.

Seras squelched another rising surge of wedding day sighs. A proper person in her circumstances wouldn't be getting the jitters over a ceremony. She was almost sixty years overdue.

Very much like a human, she tilted her head back, firmly addressing her mind to think happy thoughts and stop the silly business of tying a knot in her throat as the emotions boiled to the surface.

Bloody tears would damn the fabric of her gown, and she wasn't going to risk the wrath of the human seamstress by committing that infraction. This was a moderately satisfying end to an otherwise unsatisfying situation. Albeit a farce – she was still wedding the man she had literally died over.

The ladies fluttered around – a courier had fetched back the order from England they had called in to a lucrative jeweler. Noor glided in after a moment of absence in the front rooms of the appartments, fitting the fillet of platinum and diamonds over her head. It sat high on her brow like a tiny circlet of stars, and for a moment Seras took a private second to admire the woman staring at her in the mirror. Then she clamped down on her powers, banishing her appearance from the tall looking glass. It spooked the seamstresses, but they got a hold of themselves rather quickly once Seras reached for the veil suspended on the mannequin.

It took at least four women to properly set it to rights. It was done in the old style – down to her waist in a fall of carefully woven, minute patterns in the gauzy lace. So fine was the fabric that you could just barely make it out as a slim mist draped over her body; the thought of a burial shroud crept up unbidden on Seras.

But what burial shroud was ever so handsome? She fixed her eyes on tiny edelweiss blooms done in the needlework of the lace, then on the fat petals of a peony frozen in the fabric in minute detail. Dog Roses dotted the lace in tiny slips. Overall, the veil was an astounding work of art few would appreciate – a veritable representation of the language of flowers.*

It all was such a grand piece of work. And yet, she saw Integra's face every time she looked into the mirror.

_Countess_, said Vlad the Impaler to the lady knight that day in the bloodied ruins of London over half a century ago.

If Integra had been the Countess to his Count, the bride to his Dracula, the master to his servant...

What did that leave her with?

* * *

"Damn," she cursed, toeing on her shoe after another failed attempt down the aisle. The rehearsal wouldn't be for another week, but she kept coming to the Patriarchal Cathedral in the wee hours of the night for a bit of practice. She couldn't shake off Alucard tonight, though. He was sitting like a self-confirmed king at the end of the aisle in the seat where the Patriarch of Romania usually rested during ceremonies. He stood, swirling into a mote of shadow before reappearing right in front of her nose.

She breathed him in for a moment – cloves? It didn't matter. He smelled like sin and spiced sex no matter the hour.

His white shirt was buttoned down at the throat for once. She caught sight of his jacket slung across the high-backed throne at the side of the altar.

"Here," Alucard snapped, taking up her hands in his own before tugging her down the run of red, officious carpet. She breathed easier. One foot in front of the other, trailing behind the toes of his boots as he advanced backwards. They made good progress, Seras picking up a bit of a tune to hum as they marched down the rows of pews. The decorations were being kept to a dull minimum – but every banner, coat of arms, and marker in the old church had already been repainted, restored, and washed into a blare of brilliant color.

The inner sanctum of the cathedral itself was showy even during normal services. Chains of ornate gold suspended vast chandeliers hung throughout the confined space, dangling burners that usually belched incense during the prayers oddly still. Only a few candles burned at the altar, catching the filigree of gold that seemed to gild every available surface.

Low heels sunk into the carpet, finally ending up on the golden aquila woven into the center rug of the room. In its claws it held the mace and sword of the nation, his beak cracked open in a fierce cry.

"So the Patriarch decided that he would officiate?" Seras asked cautiously, focusing more on keeping her footing in the damnable carpet.

"In the interest of keeping our souls from being consigned to hell for all eternity – he is an amusing human," Alucard quipped, keeping a bare hand on her waist in a guiding manner as they waltzed down through the dark cathedral. The heat of the simple touch burned through to her skin.

"There," Alucard said, quite self-satisfied in tone to be specific. Seras wrenched her eyes from the tips of her shoes and met the burning gaze of the man who would be her lawfully wedded husband within a week or so.

"Thought it was horribly bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?" Seras joked nervously after a minute of intense staring on both their parts.

"I'm starting to grow tired the word – you'll be a bride for only a short span of time, _draga_. Then you will be queen in your own right – a lady. My wife."

She felt the possessive heat of his eyes penetrating the skin of her neck as she turned from him to walk back down the aisle for another try, and she dared herself to not look back and meet that gaze. Her heart couldn't manage it.

* * *

Translations for Romanian Phrases:

_Doamna_ – title for married Romanian women

_Draga _– dear

_[*] All of the flowers mentioned here are the national flowers of Romania – I'll freely admit that the Kate Middleton dress inspired a lot of what I'm describing here. Especially the ingenuity the designers wove into the dress concerning the language of flowers. Although, Seras does have a completely different set of flora than the rose of England, thistle of Scotland, shamrock of Ireland, and daffodil of Wales that our Duchess of Cambridge was sporting on her frock. _

_**Romanian Peony**__ – symbolic of shy beauty and happy marriages. It was believed to ward off madness in the Middle Ages. Named after the Greek god of healing, it was considered unlucky to uproot in any fashion. _

_**Edelweiss**__ – symbolic of daring courage and noble purity. A flower mostly found in the Alpine regions, it is used today as a symbol in many of the Romanian military branches. _

_**Dog Rose**__ – the national flower of Romania, symbolic of pleasure and pain in equal measure. _

_So what we get with the language of these Romanian blooms is this:_

_A happy marriage of a shy beauty, daring in courage yet pure – but subject to both pleasure and pain. _

_Not so far off the mark, you pesky flowers! Foreshadowing the daylights out of my little tale. As always, read and review, dear ones. And much thanks to the reviewers to date! _


	15. The Bachlorette

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Hellsing! It's all Kouta Hirano!_

Chapter 14 – The Bachelorette 

Hen parties of the twentieth century could give most raunchy functions in the twenty first century a run for their money. In Eastern Europe, as high profile figures in the political scene, hen parties for royalty and heads of state were somewhat toned down for the sake of appearances.

Seras didn't figure her hen party would consist of a long evening spent in the sole company of her bridegroom.

Noor had done her the courtesy of asking if she wanted to entertain the notion of having a small little get together between the two of them and a few friendly faces from her cabinet staff. Seras declined. She simply wasn't in the mood to cavort about and be silly for an evening, though she desperately craved it. Appearances had to be maintained – decorum observed.

There wasn't any need to blow things out of proportion and give the Catholics and the radical states on their eastern flank any provocation from 'moral corruption' in her nation. The last thing she needed was her face plastered over every newsrag in the free world with the blaring subtext of 'VAMPIRIC QUEEN-TO-BE GETS TILTED AFTER LONG EVENING OUT – INSIDER DETAILS FROM MALE DANCER ON PAGE 32'.

_Or something to that effect._

"Aren't you supposed to be inebriated with the Turk – stuffing copious amounts of money in small bills down a man's trousers with a group of other women?" Alucard breezed into her room with that loaded question, plucking the book in her hands away from her with a glance spared to the sheaf of papers she had tucked partially under her covers.

"You're acting your age, _draga mea_. An eighty year old woman tucked in with her romances and a cup of tea before moonrise," he mocked, situating himself on the edge of the bed.

Just out of reach for a good natured swat. It only stung if she didn't accept the truth, didn't it?

Her smile and tone were saccharine in the reply. "Oh, you know. Can't be bothered to rattle the bones like I used to. Like someone else I know, _dragul meu_."

Alucard had the nerve to look bemused. "Rattle the bones? I'd take that as flirtation if I didn't know you so well."

A piercing look caught the fringe of the parchment tucked under her dainty coverlet. Seras groaned internally.

He plucked up the top sheet, his eyes darkening as he read over the entry. "This was neigh on the eve of my birth as a vampire," he remarked offhandedly, as if he were commenting on the weather. Seras tensed, searching his face for something she couldn't quite put a finger on. But just as mercurial as ever, Alucard set aside the paper and pressed his mouth to her own in a chaste kiss, chuckling darkly.

"Silly Seras, prying where she ought not to," he muttered into her neck. Seras clamped her mouth down on any damnable noise trying to rise out of it at the start of his fangs pricking their old mark. Instead she was content to ever so gently smack the underside of his jaw, bringing his head up to level with hers. He scowled.

"What was that for?"

"The wedding's in a week. You can claim your conjugal rights then, if any," she hissed out, fisting the coverlet and raising it over her breasts in an act of shielding. He stared at the offending piece of fabric as if it had committed some grave offence.

Something seemed to give way in him, and he dispersed in a haze of black mist.

A chair screeched across the room in a hail of wood on wood after a short silence, coming to rest at her bedside. She reached out, shoving back the chair half-heartedly only to have it scrape closer to the edge.

"Alucard!" she yelled.

He reappeared in the chair, practically nose to nose with her yet again. This time he was sporting a few bottles of some dark liquid suspended in his long-fingered grip. And two shot glasses.

Seras would've started sweating if she could've.

"I'm not letting you become an old maid before your time, _iubito_, so suck it up. You'll stop when I say you can," he said in a measured tone, pouring out a liberal amount of the dark stuff into the glasses before offering one up to Seras. She took the shot, mindful of spilling the liquor all over herself and her bedclothes.

He kept an eye on her throughout the process, staring expectantly.

"Now, we do something I did before my marriages as a mortal – we drink up to the health of the bride, the longevity of the marriage, the prosperity of the children to come…" he trailed off, raising the glass high with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"And to the sanity of the groom," finished Seras, tossing back the shot before promptly hacking on the taste of it. It burned into her stomach, roiling in the pit of it like a hot pool of liquid fire.

"What is that?" she managed after a short breather, snorting through her nose as her esophagus screamed in protest.

"You ask too many questions, Seras." He had downed it and recovered before she could even blink, smacking his lips in appreciation of the taste.

Only the son of the dragon could appreciate piss of the dragon, it seemed.

"What do I call you after we're all matrimonially bound?" she asked after another few rounds of the stiff drink.

"This is a good question," he said after a moment of contemplation, slinging a long leg over his knee and resting it at that angle all handsome, self-assured males seemed to fall into at any convenient moment. For once, she saw her master slump in his seat, dangling the empty glass between his spidery fingers.

"You cannot call me master for much longer. Husband is suitable, but too uniform…" he trailed off, his red eyes fixed on the darkened gardens and skyline outside of her window.

She had a name for him. A name that would tread the line between painful familiarity and intimacy – a name that was lost to the ages but still clung to him like an afterthought. The little dose of liquid courage in her body loosened her tongue, and her mouth parted to speak the name.

"Vlad?" she asked softly.

It was as if she'd touched on some unnamable feeling. His whole being seemed to shudder, then spring back into life without ever moving a muscle. Alucard turned his head, fixing her to the spot with eyes that were so deeply softened with emotion Seras almost pinched her leg to bring her foolish self out of the daydream she was surely having.

"Yes. That name will suffice."

* * *

Translations for Romanian Phrases:

_Draga mea_ – My dear (feminine)

_Dragul meu – _My dear (masculine)

_Iubito_ – darling, love, dear (feminine)


End file.
